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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/artofmovingpictuOOIindrich 


THE  ART  OF 
THE  MOVING  PICTURE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •    BOSTON  -    CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


THE  ART  OF 
THE  MOYING  PICTURE 


BY 
VACHEL   LINDSAY 


We  are  no  other  than  a  moving  row 
Of  magic  shadow-shapes  that  come  and  go 
Round  with  this  sun-illumined  lantern  held 
In  midnight  by  the  Master  of  the  Show. 

—  FlTZGEBALD. 


Neijj  gorft 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1916 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYBIQHT,   1916, 

bt  the  maomillan  company. 


Set  up  and  clectrotyped.    Published  December,  1915. 


J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


DeMcateD 

TO 

GEORGE  MATHER  RICHARDS 

IN    MEMORY    OF 

THE  AET  STUDENT  DATS  WE  SPENT  TOGETHER  WHEN 

THE   METROPOLITAN   MUSEUM   WAS 

OUR  PICTURE-DRAMA 


333769 


CONTENTS 

I.    THIS  OUTLINE  IS  PROPOSED  AS  A  BASIS 
FOR  PHOTOPLAY  CRITICISM  IN  AMERICA 


I.  The  Point  of  View        .... 

11.  The  Photoplay  of  Action   . 

III.  The  Intimate  Photoplay 

IV.  The  Motion  Picture  of  Fairy  Splendor 
V.  The  Picture  of  Crowd  Splendor 

VI.  The  Picture  of  Patriotic  Splendor 

VII.  The  Picture  of  Religious  Splendor 

VIII.  Sculpt  uRE-iN-MoTioN      .... 

IX.  Painting-in-Motion         .... 

X.  Furniture,  Trappings,  and  Inventions  in 

Motion 

XL  Architecture-in-Motion 

XII.  Thirty  Differences  between  the  Photo 

plays  and  the  Stage 

XIII.  Hieroglyphics 


1 
8 

17 
30 
39 
51 
68 
79 
97 

113 
133 

151 
171 


n.  MORE  PERSONAL  SPECULATIONS  AND 
AFTERTHOUGHTS  NOT  BROUGHT  FOR- 
WARD SO   DOGMATICALLY 

XIV.    The   Orchestra,   Conversation,  and  the 

Censorship 189 

vii 


VIU 


CONTENTS 


OHAPTKE 

XV.  The  Substitute  for  the  Saloon 

XVI.  California  and  America  . 

XVII.  Progress  and  Endowment 

XVIII.  Architects  as  Crusaders 

XIX.  On  Coming  Forth  by  Day 

XX.  The  Prophet-Wizard  . 

XXI.  The  Acceptable  Year  of  the  Lord 


PAGB 

207 
217 
225 
244 
252 
261 
277 


THE  ART  OF 
THE  MOVING  PICTURE 


THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  POINT   OF  VIEW 

This  book  is  primarily  for  photoplay  au- 
diences. It  might  be  entitled  :  *'How  to  Clas- 
sify and  Judge  the  Current  Films."  But 
I  desire  as  well  that  the  work  shall  have  its 
influence  upon  producers,  scenario-writers,  act- 
ors, and  those  who  are  about  to  prepare  and 
endow  pictures  for  special  crusades. 

While  many  leading  players  and  producers 
are  mentioned,  I  do  not  presume  to  attempt  a 
rigid  roll  of  honor,  but  rather  to  supply  a  way 
of  approach  to  the  moving  picture  field. 

Many  of  the  productions  discussed  are  but 
recently  on  the  market,  or  lately  reissued. 
In  such  neighborhoods  as  the  book  has  the 
honor  to  be  read  enterprising  local  managers 
might  combine  to  send  for  them,  in  the  order 
named. 

According  to  this  work,  there  are  three  types 

B  1 


^    IHE  ART  OF  THte  MOVING  PICTURE 

of  photoplays :  pictures  of  (1)  Action,  (2) 
Intimacy,  and  (3)  Splendor.  The  Action  Pic- 
tures are  those  where  the  outpouring  of  physical 
force  at  high  speed  is  the  main  source  of  drama. 
The  Spoilers,  from  the  novel  of  Rex  Beach,  is 
an  example.  It  is  the  chronicle  of  a  fight  for 
a  Klondike  mine,  played  by  William  Farnum, 
Kathlyn  Williams,  and  others.  The  Intimate 
Pictures  are  based  on  the  ability  to  photo- 
graph and  magnify  small  groups,  "close  up." 
They  give  us  idyls,  genre  pictures,  village 
comedies,  and  the  like.  An  example  is  Enoch 
Arden,  played  by  Alfred  Paget  and  Lillian 
Gish.  The  Splendor-  Pictures  may  be  sub- 
divided into  four  sorts :  (1)  The  Fairy  Tale 
Splendor  is  such  a  production  as  Cinderella, 
played  by  Mabel  Taliaferro.  (2)  The  Patriotic 
Splendor  is  such  a  one  as  Cabiria,  a  story 
of  ancient  Italy.  Gabriel  D'Annunzio  is  the 
writer  and  producer  thereof.  (3)  The  Crowd 
Splendor  is  the  panorama  where  the  principal 
dramatic  asset  is  in  showing  the  changing  moods 
of  informal  public  gatherings,  and  putting  the 
different  types  of  mobs  and  assemblies  in  con- 
trast with  one  another  while  they  wave  their 
characteristic  flags,  rags,  or  torches.  Such 
gatherings  of  men  are  found  in  The  Italian, 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW  3 

the  leading  part  of  which  is  acted  by  George 
Beban.  (4)  The  photoplay  of  Religious  Splen- 
dor is  such  a  one  as  the  Story  of  Thomas  a 
Becket.  He  dies  in  Canterbury  Cathedral  in 
his  priestly  vestments,  surrounded  by  long- 
robed  monks,  a  martyr-priest,  defending  his 
order. 

Action,  intimacy,  and  splendor  blend  in  every 
kind  of  reel,  but  some  one  of  these  qualities  is 
dominant  in  each  production.  To  keep  his 
action  from  becoming  hysterical,  the  fastidious 
scenario-writer  or  producer  should  study  those 
standard  sculptures  that  are  depicted  in  motion, 
such  as  the  work  of  Myron  of  the  ancient  time, 
or  MacMonnies  of  the  present  day.  On  the 
other  hand  the  maker  of  the  Intimate  Photoplay 
should  let  his  mind  dwell  upon  the  work  of 
such  artists  as  the  Dutch  little  Masters  of 
Painting.  Here  he  finds  interiors  that  are 
close-up,  well  composed,  delineated  with  a 
realism  that  is  quaint  and  kindly.  But  the 
maker  of  Splendor  Pictures  could  key  them  with 
profit  to  standard  mural  painting  and  architec- 
ture. And  I  go  on  to  suggest  in  another  chapter 
that  the  makers  of  trick  pictures  of  jumping 
furniture  and  the  like  evolve  them  into  real 
fairy-tales,  with  fewer  things  moving,  and  give 


4    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING   PICTURE 

those  things  a  ritualistic  and  architectural  dig- 
nity. And  completing  the  analogy,  my  position 
is  that  religious  and  patriotic  pageants  should 
be  in  the  mood  of  nature-cathedrals  like  Stone- 
henge,  or  metropolitan  Cathedrals,  like  Notre 
Dame,  ^hatever  the  actual  materials  and  sub- 
ject-matter. 

In  short,  by  my  hypothesis.  Action  Pictures 
are  sculpture-in-motion,  Intimate  Pictures  are 
paintings-in-motion.  Splendor  Pictures  are  ar- 
chitect ure-in-motion  . 

This  work  tries  to  show  that  whatever  the 
seeming  emphasis  on  dramatic  excitement,  the 
tendency  of  the  best  motion  pictures  is  to 
evolve  quite  a  different  thing;  the  mood  of 
the  standard  art  gallery,  the  spirit  of  Tin- 
toretto rather  than  that  of  Moliere.  The  ripe 
-—photoplay  is  the  art  exhibition,  plus  action. 
The  speed  limit  is  soon  reached.  But  the  limit 
of  pictorial  beauty  cannot  be  reached.  This  is 
the  substantial  effect  of  the  book  to  this  point. 
Then  follows  chapter  twelve  giving  a  summary 
that  is  in  part  a  review :  thirty  points  of  differ- 
ence between  the  spoken  drama  and  the  photo- 
play. 

Then  I  endeavor  to  show  a  certain  surprising 
parallelism    between    Egyptian    hieroglyphics 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW  5 

and  this  new  silent  drama,  a  suggestion  I 
owe  in  its  inception  to  my  friend,  James  Oppen- 
heim.  The  development  of  the  argument  is 
confidently  based  on  the  diagram  under  the 
word  Alphabet  in  the  Standard  Dictionary. 
Here  ends  the  first  and  more  dogmatic  part  of 
the  book.  The  principal  headings  thus  far  are 
proposed  as  a  basis  for  photoplay  criticism  in 
America. 

The  rest  of  the  work  is  a  series  of  after- 
thoughts and  speculations  not  brought  forward 
so  dogmatically.  In  this  more  informal  section 
I  begin  by  airing  my  opinion  that  the  best 
censorship  is  a  public  feeling  for  beauty.  To 
this  end  the  chapter  advocates  the  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  photoplay  house  as  an  art 
gallery,  the  suppressing  of  the  music,  and 
making  the  moving  picture  audience  even  more 
conversational  by  taking  a  nightly  ballot  on 
the  favorite  film  or  episode. 

Then  since  the  restitution  of  picture-writing 
revives  the  cave-man  point  of  view  on  a  higher 
plane,  I  advocate  the  endowment  of  certain 
special  films  likely  to  be  neglected  by  commerce, 
films  that  this  cave-man  needs. 

The  various  types  of  plays  suggest  particular 
social  thoughts.     The  Action  Play,  it  seems  to 


6    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

me,  is  especially  adapted  to  the  moral  crusader. 
The  Intimate  Play  is  adapted  to  endowment 
and  development  by  the  pure  aesthete,  and  is 
tentatively  recommended  to  the  imagist  poets. 
Meditation  in  another  field,  that  of  the  Crowd 
Picture,  brings  me  to  the  contemporary  fact 
that  the  cheap  photoplay  house  is  the  best 
known  rival  and  eliminator  of  the  slum  saloon, 
the  erstwhile  poor  man's  club.  On  this  turns 
some  political  speculation. 

Then  I  show  how  California,  as  the  natural 
moving  picture  playground,  has  the  possibility 
of  developing  a  unique  cultural  leverage  upon 
America.  Then  I  bring  forward  the  proposition 
that  the  photoplay  is  such  a  good  natural  me- 
dium for  architectural  propaganda  that  archi- 
tects could  use  it  to  stimulate  the  rebuilding  of 
America  into  a  sort  of  perpetual  World's  Fair, 
if  they  had  the  courage  of  such  persons  as 
Alexander,  Julius  Caesar,  or  Napoleon.  In  the 
course  of  the  effort  to  bring  about  a  greater 
range  of  Fairy-Tale  and  Religious  Splendors  I 
advocate  specifically  a  deeply  considered  rendi- 
tion of  The  Egyptian  Book  of  the  Dead,  or  as 
it  is  better  entitled  :  The  Chapters  on  Coming 
Forth  by  Day. 

The  last  discourse  is  on  the  forecasters  of  a 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW  7 

newer  civilization,  and  shows  how  Jules  Verne, 
Edward  Bellamy,  and  H.  G.  Wells  need  more 
mystical  and  less  mechanical  successors  when 
we  formulate  our  America  of  Tomorrow.  And 
maintaining  that  the  photoplay  cuts  deeper 
into  some  stratifications  of  society  than  the 
newspaper  or  the  book  have  ever  gone,  I  try 
to  show  that  the  destiny  of  America  from  many 
aspects  may  be  bound  up  in  what  the  prophet- 
wizards  among  her  photoplaywrights  and  pro- 
ducers mark  out  for  her,  for  those  things  which 
a  whole  nation  dares  to  hope  for,  it  may  in  the 
end  attain. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   PHOTOPLAY   OF  ACTION 

Let  us  assume,  friendly  reader,  that  it  is 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  you  make 
yourself  comfortable  in  your  den,  to  peruse 
this  chapter.  I  want  to  tell  you  about  the 
Action  Film,  the  simplest,  the  type  most  often 
seen.  In  the  mind  of  the  habitue  of  the  cheaper 
theatre  it  is  the  only  sort  in  existence.  It 
dominates  the  slums,  is  announced  there  by 
red  and  green  posters  of  the  melodrama  sort, 
and  retains  its  original  elements,  more  deftly 
handled,  in  places  more  expensive.  The  story 
goes  at  the  highest  possible  speed  to  be  still 
credible.  When  it  is  a  poor  thing,  which  is  the 
case  too  often,  the  St.  Vitus  dance  destroys 
the  pleasure-value.  The  rhythmic  quality  of 
the  picture-motions  is  twitched  to  death.  In 
the  bad  photoplay  even  the  picture  of  an  ex- 
press train  more  than  exaggerates  itself.  Yet 
when  the  photoplay  chooses  to  behave  it  can 
reproduce  a  race  far  more  joyously  than  the 
stage.     On  that  fact  is  based  the  opportunity 


THE  PHOTOPLAY  OF  ACTION  9 

of  this  form.  Many  Action  Pictures  are  in- 
doors, but  the  abstract  theory  of  the  Action 
Film  is  based  on  the  out-of-door  chase.  You 
remember  the  first  one  you  saw  where  the 
policeman  pursues  the  comical  tramp  over 
hill  and  dale  and  across  the  town  lots.  You 
remember  that  other  where  the  cowboy  follows 
the  horse  thief  across  the  desert,  spies  him  at 
last  and  chases  him  faster,  faster,  faster,  and 
faster,  and  finally  catches  him.  If  the  film 
was  made  in  the  days  before  the  National 
Board  of  Censorship,  it  ends  with  the  cowboy 
cheerfully  hanging  the  villain ;  all  details  given 
to  the  last  kick  of  the  deceased. 

One  of  the  best  Action  Pictures  is  an  old 
Griffith  Biograph,  recently  reissued,  the  story 
entitled  "Man's  Genesis."  In  the  time  when 
cave-men-gorillas  had  no  weapons,  Weak- 
Hands  (impersonated  by  Robert  Harron) 
invents  the  stone  club.  He  vanquishes  his 
gorilla-like  rival,  Brute-Force  (impersonated 
by  Wilfred  Lucas).  Strange  but  credible  man- 
ners and  customs  of  the  cave-men  are  detailed. 
They  live  in  picturesque  caves.  Their^Jialf- 
monkey  gestures  are  wonderful  to  see.  But 
these  things  are  beheld  on  the  fly.  It  is  the 
chronicle  of  a  race  between  the  brain  of  Weak- 


10    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Hands  and  the  body  of  the  other,  symbolized 
by  the  chasing  of  poor  Weak-Hands  in  and  out 
among  the  rocks  until  the  climax.  Brain  des- 
perately triumphs.  Weak-Hands  slays  Brute- 
Force  with  the  startling  invention.  He  wins 
back  his  stolen  bride,  Lily- White  (impersonated 
by  Mae  Marsh).  It  is  a  Griflith  masterpiece, 
and  every  actor  does  sound  work.  The  audi- 
ence, mechanical  Americans,  fond  of  crawling 
on  their  stomachs  to  tinker  their  automobiles, 
are  eager  over  the  evolution  of  the  first  weapon 
from  a  stick  to  a  hammer.  They  are  as  full  of 
curiosity  as  they  could  well  be  over  the  history 
of  Langley  or  the  Wright  brothers. 

The  dire  perils  of  the  motion  pictures  pro- 
voke the  ingenuity  of  the  audience,  not  their 
passionate  sympathy.  When,  in  the  minds  of 
the  deluded  producers  the  beholders  should  be 
weeping  or  sighing  with  desire,  they  are  proph- 
esying the  next  step  to  one  another  in  worldly 
George  Ade  slang.  This  is  illustrated  in  another 
good  Action  Photoplay :  the  dramatization  of 
The  Spoilers.  The  original  novel  was  written 
by  Rex  Beach.  The  gallant  William  Farnum 
as  Glenister  dominates  the  play.  He  has  excel- 
lent support.  Their  team-work  makes  them 
worthy    of    chronicle:    Thomas    Santschi    as 


THE  PHOTOPLAY  OF  ACTION  11 

McNamara,  Kathlyn  Williams  as  Cherry  Ma- 
lotte,  Bessie  Eyton  as  Helen  Chester,  Frank 
Clark  as  Dextry,  Wheeler  Oakman  as  Broncho 
Kid,  and  Jack  McDonald  as  Slapjack. 

There  are,  in  The  Spoilers,  inspiriting  ocean 
scenes  and  mountain  views.  There  are  in- 
teresting sketches  of  mining-camp  manners 
and  customs.  There  is  a  well-acted  love- 
interest  in  it,  and  the  element  of  the  comrade- 
ship of  loyal  pals.  But  the  chase  rushes  past 
these  things  to  the  climax,  as  in  a  policeman 
picture  it  whirls  past  blossoming  gardens  and 
front  lawns  till  the  tramp  is  arrested.  The 
difficulties  are  commented  on  by  the  people 
in  the  audience  as  rah-rah  boys  on  the  side 
lines  comment  on  hurdles  cleared  or  knocked 
over  by  the  men  running  in  college  field-day. 
The  sudden  cut-backs  into  side  branches  of  the 
story  are  but  hurdles  also,  not  plot  complica- 
tions in  the  stage  sense.  This  is  as  it  should  be. 
The  pursuit  progresses  without  St.  Vitus  dance 
or  hysteria  to  the  end  of  the  film.  There  the 
spoilers  are  discomfited,  the  gold  mine  is  re- 
captured, the  incidental  girls  are  won,  in  a 
flash,  by  the  rightful  owners. 

These  shows  work  like  the  express  elevators 
in  the  Metropolitan  Tower.     The  ideal  is  the 


12    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

maximum  of  speed  in  descending  or  ascending, 
not  to  be  jolted  into  insensibility .1  There  are 
two  girl  parts  as  beautifully  thought  out  as  the 
parts  of  ladies  in  love  can  be  expected  to  be  in 
Action  Films.  But  in  the  end  the  love  is  not 
much  more  romantic  in  the  eye  of  the  spectator 
than  it  would  be  to  behold  a  man  on  a  motor- 
cycle with  the  girl  of  his  choice  riding  on  the 
same  machine  behind  him.  And  the  highest 
type  of  Action  Picture  romance  is  not  attained 
by  having  Juliet  triumph  over  the  motorcycle 
handicap.  It  is  not  achieved  by  weaving  in  a 
Sherlock  Holmes  plot.  Action  Picture  romance 
comes  when  each  hurdle  is  a  tableau,  when  there 
is  indeed  an  art-gallery-beauty  in  each  one  of 
these  swift  glimpses  :  when  it  is  a  race,  but  with 
a  proper  and  golden-linked  grace  from  action  to 
action,  and  the  goal  is  the  most  beautiful  glimpse 
in  the  whole  reel. 

In  the  Action  Picture  there  is  no  adequate 
means  for  the  development  of  any  full  grown 
personal  passion.  The  distinguished  character- 
study  that  makes  genuine  the  personal  emotions 
in  the  legitimate  drama,  has  no  chance.  People 
are  but  types,  swiftly  moved  chessmen.  More 
elaborate  discourse  on  this  subject  may  be  found 
in  chapter  twelve  on  the  differences  between  the 


THE  PHOTOPLAY  OF  ACTION  13 

films  and  the  stage.  But  here,  briefly:  the  ~ 
Action  Pictures  are  falsely  advertised  as  having 
heart-interest,  or  abounding  in  tragedy.  But 
though  the  actors  glower  and  wrestle  and  even 
if  they  are  the  most  skilful  lambasters  in  the 
profession  the  audience  gossips  and  chews  gum. 

Why  does  the  audience  keep  coming  to  this\ 
type  of  photoplay  if  neither  lust,  love,  hate, ' 
nor  hunger  are  adequately  conveyed  ?     Simply 
because  such  spectacles  gratify  the  incipient  or/ 
rampant  speed-mania  in  every  American.  ' 

To  make  the  elevator  go  faster  than  the  one 
in  the  Metropolitan  Tower  is  to  destroy  even 
this  emotion.  To  elaborate  unduly  any  of  the 
agonies  or  seductions  in  the  hope  of  arousing 
lust,  love,  hate,  or  hunger,  is  to  produce  on 
the  screen  a  series  of  misplaced  figures  of  the 
order  Frankenstein. 

How  often  we  have  been  horrified  by  these 
galvanized  and  ogling  corpses.  These  are  the 
things  that  cause  the  outcry  for  more  censors. 
It  is  not  that  our  moral  codes  are  insulted, 
but  what  is  far  worse,  our  nervous  systems  are 
temporarily  racked  to  pieces.  These  wriggling 
half-dead  men,  these  over-bloody  burglars,  are 
public  nuisances,  no  worse  and  no  better  than 
dead  cats  being  hurled  about  by  street  urchins. 


14    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

The  cry  for  more  censors  is  but  the  cry  for 
the  man  with  the  broom.  Sometimes  it  is  a 
matter  as  simple  as  when  a  child  is  scratching 
with  a  pin  on  a  slate.  While  one  would  not 
have  the  child  locked  up  by  the  chief  of  police, 
after  five  minutes  of  it  almost  every  one  wants 
to  smack  him  till  his  little  jaws  ache.  It  is 
the  very  cold-bloodedness  of  the  proceeding 
that  ruins  our  kindness  of  heart.  And  the  best 
Action  Film  is  impersonal  and  unsympathetic 
even  if  it  has  no  scratching  pins.  Because  it  is 
cold-blooded  it  must  take  extra  pains  to  be 
tactful.  Cold-blooded  means  that  the  hero  as 
we  see  him  on  the  screen  is  a  variety  of  amiable 
or  violent  ghost.  Nothing  makes  his  lack  of 
human  charm  plainer  than  when  we  as  audience 
enter  the  theatre  at  the  middle  of  what  pur- 
ports to  be  the  most  passionate  of  scenes  when 
the  goal  of  the  chase  is  unknown  to  us  and  the 
alleged  "situation"  appeals  on  its  magnetic 
merits.  Here  is  neither  the  psychic  telepathy 
of  Forbes  Robertson's  Caesar,  nor  the  fire- 
breath  of  E.  H.  Sothern's  Don  Quixote.  The 
audience  is  not  worked  up  into  the  deadly  still 
mob-unity  of  the  speaking  theatre.  We  late 
comers  wait  for  the  whole  reel  to  start  over  and 
the  goal  to  be  indicated  in  the  preliminary. 


THE  PHOTOPLAY  OF  ACTION         15 

before  we  can  get  the  least  bit  wrought  up. 
The  prize  may  be  a  lady's  heart,  the  restoration 
of  a  lost  reputation,  or  the  ownership  of  the 
patent  for  a  churn.  In  the  more  effective 
Action  Plays  it  is  often  what  would  be  sec- 
ondary on  the  stage,  the  recovery  of  a  certain 
glove,  spade,  bull-calf,  or  rock-quarry.  And  to 
begin,  we  are  shown  a  clean-cut  picture  of  said 
glove,  spade,  bull-calf,  or  rock-quarry.  Then 
when  these  disappear  from  ownership  or  sight, 
the  suspense  continues  till  they  are  again 
visible  on  the  screen  in  the  hands  of  the  right- 
ful owner. 

In  brief,  the  actors  hurry  through  what  would 
be  tremendous  passions  on  the  stage  to  re- 
cover something  that  can  be  really  photo- 
graphed. For  instance,  there  came  to  our 
town  long  ago  a  film  of  a  fight  between  Federals 
and  Confederates,  with  the  loss  of  many  lives, 
all  for  the  recapture  of  a  steam-engine  that 
took  on  more  personality  in  the  end  than  pri- 
vate or  general  on  either  side,  alive  or  dead. 
It  was  based  on  the  history  of  the  very  engine 
photographed,  or  else  that  engine  was  given  in 
replica.  The  old  locomotive  was  full  of  char- 
acter and  humor  amidst  the  tragedy,  leaking 
steam  at  every  orifice.     The  original  is  in  one  of 


16    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  Southern  Civil  War  museums.  This  engine 
in  its  capacity  as  a  principal  actor  is  going  to  be 
referred  to  more  than  several  times  in  this  work. 

The  highest  type  of  Action  Picture  gives  us 
neither  the  quality  of  Macbeth  or  Henry 
Fifth,  the  Comedy  of  Errors,  or  the  Taming  of 
the  Shrew.  It  gives  us  rather  that  fine  and 
special  quality  that  was  in  the  ink-bottle  of 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  that  brought  about 
the  limitations  and  the  nobility  of  the  stories 
of  Kidnapped,  Treasure  Island,  and  the  New 
Arabian  Nights. 

This  discussion  will  be  resumed  on  another 
plane  in  the  eighth  chapter:  Sculpture-in- 
Motion. 

Having  read  thus  far,  why  not  close  the  book 
and  go  round  the  corner  to  a  photoplay  theatre  ? 
Give  the  preference  to  the  cheapest  one.  The 
Action  Picture  will  be  inevitable. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   INTIMATE   PHOTOPLAY 

If  you  are  one  of  the  ten  thousand  people 
writing  scenarios  that  have  not  been  taken 
as  yet,  if  you  desire  advice  that  will  enable  you 
to  place  your  work,  read  along  with  this 
volume  The  Technique  of  the  Photoplay 
by  Epes  Winthrop  Sargent,  to  be  had  from 
The  Moving  Picture  World.  That  book  shows 
the  devices  whereby  films  akin  to  The 
Spoilers  are  evolved.  It  tells  how  to  develop 
comedies  and  near-tragedies  that  are  their 
cousins.  Further  acquaintance  with  this  inter- 
esting practical  field  may  be  had  by  subscribing 
to  The  Moving  Picture  World.  It  is  a  trade- 
weekly  primarily  for  operators  of  theatres  the 
country  over,  but  with  items  for  all  the  people 
interested  in  the  field.  These  chapters  that  we 
are  developing  together,  friend  reader,  bring  the 
artistic  and  not  the  commercial  ruler  to  the  meas- 
uring of  the  business.  I  hope  that  the  fifty  people 
who  are  manufacturing  successful  scenarios  will 
o  17 


18    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

think  it  worth  their  while  to  read  further  into 
these  discourses  for  advice  that  I  dare  to  hope, 
when  combined  with  their  practical  sense,  will 
have  some  influence  in  shaping  their  art.  And 
I  hope  that  some  of  the  ten  thousand  who 
emulate  them  may  be  led  by  certain  passages 
in  this  book  nearer  to  the  artistic  side  of  the 
thing  without  destroying  their  commercial 
chances.  The  goal  of  the  scenario- writer,  be 
he  commercially  successful,  or  not,  should  be 
to  manage  his  own  scenarios,  —  be  an  author- 
producer.  Not  until  he  is  in  that  commanding 
position  will  he  be  as  well  placed  to  work  out 
his  ideas  as  is  the  routine  short-story  writer  or 
novelist.  Further  discussion  of  the  producer's 
position  is  found  in  chapter  twelve.  In  brief, 
he  is  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  real 
photoplay,  and  the  scenario-writer  should  be 
willing  to  be  his  slave  only  long  enough  to 
learn  to  invade  his  studio  and  replace  him. 

A  bit  of  personal  history  may  throw  light  on 
the  method  of  approach  in  this  book.  I  used 
to  be  one  of  a  combined  group  of  advanced 
students  from  the  Art  Students'  League,  the 
New  York  School  of  Art  and  the  National 
Academy  School,  who  assembled  weekly  for 
several  winters  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum, 


THE  INTIMATE  PHOTOPLAY  19 

for  the  discussion  of  the  masterpieces  in  historic 
order,  from  Egypt  to  America.  From  that 
standpoint,  the  work  least  often  found,  hardest 
to  make,  least  popular  in  the  street,  may  be 
in  the  end  the  one  most  treasured  in  a  world- 
museum  as  a  counsellor  and  stimulus  of  man- 
kind. Throughout  this  book  I  try  to  bring 
to  bear  the  same  simple  standards  of  form, 
composition,  mood,  and  motive  that  we  used 
in  finding  the  fundamental  exhibits ;  the  stand- 
ards which  are  taken  for  granted  in  art 
histories  and  schools,  radical  or  conservative, 
anywhere. 

Again  we  assume  it  is  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  friend  reader,  when  the  chapter 
begins. 

Just  as  the  Action  Picture  has  its  photo- 
graphic basis  or  fundamental  metaphor  in  the 
long  chase  down  the  highway,  so  the  Intimate 
Film  has  its  photographic  basis  in  the  fact  that 
any  photoplay  interior  has  a  very  small  ground 
plan,  and  the  cosiest  of  enclosing  walls.  Many 
a  worth-while  scene  is  acted  out  in  a  space  no 
bigger  than  that  which  is  occupied  by  an  office 
boy's  stool  and  hat.  If  there  is  a  table  in  this 
room,  it  is  often  so  near  it  is  half  out  of  the  pic- 
ture or  perhaps  it  is  against  the  front  line  of 


20    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  triangular  ground-plan.  Only  the  top  of 
the  table  is  seen,  and  nothing  close  up  to  us  is 
pictured  below  that.  We  in  the  audience  are 
privileged  characters.  Generally  attending  the 
show  in  bunches  of  two  or  three,  we  are  members 
of  the  household  on  the  screen.  Sometimes  we 
are  sitting  on  the  near  side  of  the  family  board. 
Or  we  are  gossiping  whispering  neighbors,  of 
the  shoemaker,  we  will  say,  with  our  noses 
pressed  against  the  pane  of  a  metaphoric  win- 
dow. 

Take  for  contrast  the  old-fashioned  stage 
production  showing  the  room  and  work  table 
of  a  shoemaker.  As  it  were  the  whole  side 
of  the  house  has  been  removed.  The  shop 
is  as  big  as  a  banquet  hall.  There  is  some- 
thing essentially  false  in  what  we  see,  no  matter 
how  the  stage  manager  fills  in  with  old  boxes, 
broken  chairs,  and  the  like.  But  the  photo- 
play interior  is  the  size  such  a  work-room  should 
be.  And  there  the  awl  and  pegs  and  bits  of 
leather,  speaking  the  silent  language  of  picture 
writing,  can  be  clearly  shown.  They  are 
sometimes  like  the  engine  in  chapter  two,  the 
principal  actors. 

Though  the  Intimate-and-friendly  Photoplay 
may  be  carried  out  of  doors  to  the  row  of  loafers 


THE  INTIMATE  PHOTOPLAY  21 

in  front  of  the  country  store,  or  the  gossiping 
streets  of  the  village,  it  takes  its  origin  and 
theory  from  the  snugness  of  the  interior. 

The  restless  reader  replies  that  he  has  seen 
photoplays  that  showed  ball-rooms  that  were 
grandiose,  not  the  least  cosy.  These  are  to 
be  classed  as  out-of-door  scenery  so  far  as 
theory  goes,  and  are  to  be  discussed  under  the 
head  of  Splendor  Pictures.  Masses  of  human 
beings  pour  by  like  waves,  the  personalities  of 
none  made  plain.  The  only  definite  people 
are  the  hero  and  heroine  in  the  foreground,  and 
maybe  one  other.  Though  these  three  be  in 
ball-costume,  the  little  triangle  they  occupy 
next  to  the  camera  is  in  sort  an  interior,  while 
the  impersonal  guests  behind  them  conform 
to  the  pageant  principles  of  out-of-doors, 
and  the  dancers  are  to  the  main  actor  as  is  the 
wind-shaken  forest  to  the  charcoal-burner,  or 
the  bending  grain  to  the  reaper. 

The  Intimate  Motion  Picture  is  the  world's 
new  medium  for  studying,  not  the  great  pas- 
sions, such  as  black  hate,  transcendent  love, 
devouring  ambition,  but  rather  the  half  re- 
laxed or  gently  restrained  moods  of  human 
creatures.  It  gives  also  our  idiosyncrasies.  It 
is  gossip  in  extremis.     It  is  apt  to  chronicle  our 


22    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

petty  little  skirmishes,  rather  than  our  feuds. 
In  it  Colin  Clout  and  his  comrades  return. 

The  Intimate  Photoplay  should  not  crowd 
its  characters.  It  should  not  choke  itself  trying 
to  dramatize  the  whole  big  bloody  plot  of  Lorna 
Doone,  or  any  other  novel  with  a  dozen  leading 
people.  Yet  some  gentle  episode  from  the 
John  Ridd  farm,  some  half-chapter  when 
Lorna  and  the  Doones  are  almost  forgotten, 
would  be  fitting.  Let  the  duck-yard  be  parad- 
ing its  best,  and  Annie  among  the  milk-pails, 
her  work  for  the  evening  well  nigh  done.  The 
Vicar  of  Wakefield  has  his  place  in  this  form. 
The  Intimate-and-friendly  Motion  Picture 
might  very  well  give  humorous  moments  in 
the  lives  of  the  great,  King  Alfred  burning  the 
cakes,  and  other  legendary  incidents  of  him. 
Plato's  writings  give  us  glimpses  of  Socrates, 
in  between  the  long  dialogues.  And  there  are 
intimate  scraps  in  Plutarch. 

Prospective  author-producer,  do  you  re- 
member Landor's  Imaginary  Conversations,  and 
Lang's  Letters  to  Dead  Authors?  Can  you 
not  attain  to^that  informal  understanding  in 
pictorial  delineations  of  such  people  .^^ 

The  photoplay  has  been  unjust  to  itself  in 
comedies.     The  late  John  Bunny's  important 


THE  INTIMATE  PHOTOPLAY  23 

place  in  my  memory  comes  from  the  first  pic- 
ture in  which  I  saw  him.  It  is  a  story  of 
high  life  below  stairs.  The  hero  is  the  butler  at 
a  governor's  reception.  John  Bunny's  work 
as  this  man  is  a  delightful  piece  of  acting. 
The  servants  are  growing  tipsier  downstairs, 
but  the  more  afraid  of  the  chief  functionary 
every  time  he  appears,  frozen  into  sobriety 
by  his  glance.  At  the  last  moment  this  god  of 
the  basement  catches  them  at  their  worst  and 
gives  them  a  condescending  but  forgiving 
smile.  The  lid  comes  off  completely.  He 
himself  has  been  imbibing.  His  surviving 
dignity  in  waiting  on  the  governor's  guests  is 
worthy  of  the  stage  of  Goldsmith  and  Sheridan. 
This  film  should  be  reissued  in  time  as  a  Bunny 
memorial. 

So  far  as  my  experience  has  gone,  the  best 
of  the  comedians  is  Sidney  Drew.  He  could 
shine  in  the  atmosphere  of  Pride  and  Prejudice 
or  Cranford.  But  the  best  things  I  have  seen 
of  his  are  far  from  such.  I  beg  the  pardon  of 
Miss  Jane  Austen  and  Mrs.  Gaskell  while  I 
mention  Who's  Who  in  Hogg's  Hollow,  and  A 
Regiment  of  Two.  Over  these  I  rejoiced  like 
a  yokel  with  a  pocketful  of  butterscotch  and 
peanuts.     The    opportunities    to    laugh    on    a 


24    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

higher  plane  than  this,  to  laugh  like  Olympians, 
are  seldom  given  us  in  this  world. 

The  most  successful  motion  picture  drama 
of  the  intimate  type  ever  placed  before  mine 
eyes  was  Enoch  Arden,  produced  by  Cabanne. 

Lillian  Gish  takes  the  part  of  Annie,  Alfred 
Paget  impersonates  Enoch  Arden,  and  Wallace 
Reid  takes  the  part  of  Philip  Ray.  The  play 
is  in  four  reels  of  twenty  minutes  each.  It 
should  have  been  made  into  three  reels  by 
shortening  every  scene  just  a  bit.  Otherwise 
it  is  satisfying,  and  I  and  my  friends  have 
watched  it  through  many  times  as  it  has  re- 
turned to  Springfield. 

The  mood  of  the  original  poem  is  approxi- 
mated. The  story  is  told  with  fireside  friend- 
liness. The  pale  Lillian  Gish  surrounded  by 
happy  children  gives  us  many  a  genre  paint- 
ing on  the  theme  of  domesticity.  It  is  a  photo- 
graphic rendering  in  many  ways  as  fastidious 
as  Tennyson's  versification.  The  scenes  on  the 
desert  island  are  some  of  them  commonplace. 
The  shipwreck  and  the  like  remind  one  of 
other  photoplays,  but  the  rest  of  the  pro- 
duction has  a  mood  of  its  own.  Seen  several 
months  ago  it  fills  my  eye-imagination  and  eye- 
memory   more  than   that   particular   piece   of 


THE  INTIMATE  PHOTOPLAY  25 

Tennyson's  fills  word-imagination  and  word- 
memory.  Perhaps  this  is  because  it  is  pleasing 
to  me  as  a  theorist.  It  is  a  sound  example 
of  the  type  of  film  to  which  this  chap- 
ter is  devoted.  If  you  cannot  get  your  local 
manager  to  bring  Enoch  Arden,  reread  that 
poem  of  Tennyson's  and  translate  it  in  your 
own  mind's  eye  into  a  gallery  of  six  hun- 
dred delicately  toned  photographs  hung  in  logi- 
cal order,  most  of  them  cosy  interior  scenes, 
some  of  the  faces  five  feet  from  chin  to  forehead 
in  the  more  personal  episodes,  yet  exquisitely 
fair.  Fill  in  the  out-of-door  scenes  and  general 
gatherings  with  the  appointments  of  an  idyllic 
English  fisher-village,  and  you  will  get  an 
approximate  conception  of  what  we  mean  by 
the  Intimate-and-friendly  Motion  Picture,  or 
the  Intimate  Picture,  as  I  generally  call  it, 
for  convenience. 

It  is  a  quality,  not  a  defect,  of  all  photoplays 
that  human  beings  tend  to  become  dolls  and 
mechanisms,  and  dolls  and  mechanisms  tend  to 
become  human.  But  the  haughty,  who  scorn 
the  moving  pictures,  cannot  rid  themselves  of 
the  feeling  that  they  are  being  seduced  into 
going  into  some  sort  of  a  Punch-and-Judy 
show.     And   they   think   that   of    course   one 


26    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

should  not  take  seriously  anything  so  cheap  in 
price  and  so  appealing  to  the  cross-roads  taste. 
But  it  is  very  well  to  begin  in  the  Punch-and- 
Judy-show  state  of  mind,  and  reconcile  our- 
selves to  it,  and  then  like  good  democrats 
await  discoveries.  Punch  and  Judy  is  the  sim- 
plest form  of  marionette  performance,  and  the 
marionette  has  a  place  in  every  street  in  his- 
tory just  as  the  dolls'  house  has  its  corner  in 
every  palace  and  cottage.  The  French  in 
particular  have  had  their  great  periods  of  puppet 
shows;  and  the  Italian  tradition  survived  in 
America's  Little  Italy,  in  New  York  for  many 
a  day ;  and  I  will  mention  in  passing  that  one 
of  Pavlowa's  unforgettable  dance  dramas  is 
The  Fairy  Doll.  Prospective  author-producer, 
why  not  spend  a  deal  of  energy  on  the 
photoplay  successors  of  the  puppet-plays? 

We  have  the  queen  of  the  marionettes  al- 
ready, without  the  play. 

One  description  of  the  Intimate-and-friendly 
Comedy  would  be  the  Mary  Pickford  kind  of  a 
story.  None  has  as  yet  appeared.  But  we 
know  the  Mary  Pickford  mood.  When  it  is 
gentlest,  most  roguish,  most  exalted,  it  is  a 
prophecy  of  what  this  type  should  be,  not  only 
in  the  actress,  but  in  the  scenario  and  setting. 


THE  INTIMATE  PHOTOPLAY  27 

Mary  Pickford  can  be  a  doll,  a  village  belle, 
or  a  church  angel.  Her  powers  as  a  doll  are 
hinted  at  in  the  title  of  the  production :  Such 
a  Little  Queen.  I  remember  her  when  she 
was  a  village  belle  in  that  film  that  came  out 
before  producers  or  actors  were  known  by 
name.  It  was  sugar-sweet.  It  was  called  : 
What  the  Daisy  Said.  If  these  productions 
had  conformed  to  their  titles  sincerely,  with 
the  highest  photoplay  art  we  would  have  had 
two  more  examples  for  this  chapter. 

Why  do  the  people  love  Mary.f^  Not  on 
account  of  the  Daniel  Frohman  style  of  han- 
dling her  appearances.  He  presents  her  to  us 
in  what  are  almost  the  old-fashioned  stage 
terms :  the  productions  energetic  and  full  of 
painstaking  detail  but  dominated  by  a  dream 
that  is  a  theatrical  hybrid.  It  is  neither 
good  moving  picture  nor  good  stage  play.  Yet 
Mary  could  be  cast  as  a  cloudy  Olympian  or  a 
church  angel  if  her  managers  wanted  her  to  be 
such.  She  herself  was  transfigured  in  the  Dawn 
of  Tomorrow,  but  the  film- version  of  that  play 
was  merely  a  well  mounted  melodrama. 

Why  do  the  people  love  Mary?  Because  of 
a  certain  aspect  of  her  face  in  her  highest  mood. 
Botticelli  painted  her  portrait  many  centuries 


28    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

ago  when  by  some  necromancy  she  appeared 
to  him  in  this  phase  of  herself.  There  is  in 
the  Chicago  Art  Institute  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs  on  the  north  wall  a  noble  copy  of  a 
fresco  by  that  painter,  the  copy  by  Mrs.  Mac- 
Monnies.  It  is  very  near  the  Winged  Victory 
of  Samothrace.  In  the  picture  the  muses  sit 
enthroned.  The  loveliest  of  them  all  is  a 
startling  replica  of  Mary. 

The  people  are  hungry  for  this  fine  and 
spiritual  thing  that  Botticelli  painted  in  the 
faces  of  his  muses  and  heavenly  creatures. 
\  Because  the  mob  catch  the  very  glimpse  of  it 
in  Mary's  face,  they  follow  her  night  after 
night  in  the  films.  They  are  never  quite 
satisfied  with  the  plays,  because  the  managers 
are  not  artists  enough  to  know  they  should 
sometimes  put  her  into  sacred  pictures  and  not 
have  her  always  the  village  hoyden,  in  plays 
not  even  hoydenish.  But  perhaps  in  this  argu- 
ment I  have  but  betrayed  myseK  as  Mary's  in- 
fatuated partisan. 

So  let  there  be  recorded  here  the  name  of 
another  actress  who  is  always  in  the  intimate- 
and-friendly  mood  and  adapted  to  close-up 
interiors,  Marguerite  Clark.  She  is  endowed 
by  nature  to  act,  in  the  same  film,  the  eight- 


THE  INTIMATE  PHOTOPLAY  29 

year-old  village  pet,  the  irrepressible  sixteen- 
year-old,  and  finally  the  shining  bride  of  twenty. 
But  no  production  in  which  she  acts  that  has 
happened  to  come  under  my  eye  has  done 
justice  to  these  possibilities.  The  transitions 
from  one  of  these  stages  to  the  other  are  not 
marked  by  the  producer  with  suflficient  delicate 
graduation,  emphasis,  and  contrast.  Her  plots 
have  been  but  sugared  nonsense,  or  swash- 
buckling ups  and  downs.  She  shines  in  a  bevy 
of  girls.  She  has  sometimes  been  given  the 
bevy. 

But  it  is  easier  to  find  performers  who  fit 
this  chapter,  than  to  find  films.  Having  read  so 
far,  it  is  probably  not  quite  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  Go  around  the  corner  to  the  nearest 
theatre.  You  will  not  be  apt  to  find  a  pure 
example  of  the  Intimate-and-friendly  Moving 
Picture,  but  some  one  or  two  scenes  will  make 
plain  the  intent  of  the  phrase.  Imagine  the 
most  winsome  tableau  that  passes  before  you, 
extended  logically  through  one  or  three  reels, 
with  no  melodramatic  interruptions  or  awful 
smashes.  For  a  further  discussion  of  these 
smashes,  and  other  items  in  this  chapter, 
read  the  ninth  chapter,  entitled  "Painting- 
in-Motion." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MOTION  PICTURE   OF  FAIRY   SPLENDOR 

Again,  kind  reader,  let  us  assume  it  is  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  for  purposes  of  future 
climax  which  you  no  doubt  anticipate. 

Just  as  the  Action  Motion  Picture  has  its 
photographic  basis  in  the  race  down  the  high- 
road, just  as  the  Intimate  Motion  Picture  has 
its  photographic  basis  in  the  close-up  interior 
scene,  so  the  Photoplay  of  Splendor,  in  its 
four  forms,  is  based  on  the  fact  that  the  ki- 
netoscope  can  take  in  the  most  varied  of  out- 
of-door  landscapes.  It  can  reproduce  fairy  dells. 
It  can  give  every  ripple  of  the  lily-pond.  It 
can  show  us  cathedrals  within  and  without. 
It  can  take  in  the  panorama  of  cyclopsean 
cloud,  bending  forest,  storm-hung  mountain. 
In  like  manner  it  can  put  on  the  screen  great 
impersonal  mobs  of  men.  It  can  give  us  tre- 
mendous armies,  moving  as  oceans  move.  The 
pictures  of  Fairy  Splendor,  Crowd  Splendor, 
Patriotic  Splendor,  and  Religious  Splendor  are 
but  the  embodiments  of  these  backgrounds. 

80 


FAIRY  SPLENDOR  31 

And  a  photographic  corollary  quite  useful 
in  these  four  forms  is  that  the  camera  has  a 
kind  of  Hallowe'en  witch-power.  This  power 
is  the  subject  of  this  chapter. 

The  world-old  legends  and  revelations  of 
men  in  connection  with  the  lovely  out  of  doors, 
or  lonely  shrines,  or  derived  from  inspired 
crusading  humanity  moving  in  masses,  can 
now  be  fitly  retold.  Also  the  fairy  wand  can 
do  its  work,  the  little  dryad  can  come  from  the 
tree.  And  the  spirits  that  guard  the  Repub- 
lic can  be  seen  walking  on  the  clouds  above 
the  harvest-fields. 

But  we  are  concerned  with  the  humblest 
voodooism  at  present. 

Perhaps  the  world's  oldest  motion  picture 
plot  is  a  tale  in  Mother  Goose.  It  ends  some- 
what in  this  fashion :  — 

The  old  lady  said  to  the  cat :  — 

"  Cat,  cat,  kill  rat. 
Rat  will  not  gnaw  rope. 
Rope  will  not  hang  butcher. 
Butcher  will  not  kill  ox. 
Ox  will  not  drink  water. 
Water  will  not  quench  fire, 
Fire  will  not  burn  stick. 


32    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Stick  will  not  beat  dog, 

Dog  will  not  bite  pig, 

Pig  will  not  jump  over  the  stile. 

And  I  cannot  get  home  to-night." 

By  some  means  the  present  writer  does  not 
remember,  the  cat  was  persuaded  to  approach 
the  rat.  The  rest  was  like  a  tale  of  European 
diplomacy :  — 

The  rat  began  to  gnaw  the  rope. 
The  rope  began  to  hang  the  butcher. 
The  butcher  began  to  kill  the  ox. 
The  ox  began  to  drink  the  water. 
The  water  began  to  quench  the  fire. 
The  fire  began  to  burn  the  stick. 
The  stick  began  to  beat  the  dog, 
The  dog  began  to  bite  the  pig. 
The  frightened  little  pig  jumped  over  the  stile. 
And  the  old  lady  was  able  to  get  home  that 
night. 

Put  yourself  back  to  the  state  of  mind  in 
which  you  enjoyed  this  bit  of  verse. 

Though  the  photoplay  fairy-tale  may  rise 
to  exquisite  heights,  it  begins  with  pictures 
akin  to  this  rhyme.  Mankind  in  his  child- 
hood has  always  wanted  his  furniture  to  do 
such  things.     Arthur  names  his  blade  Excali- 


FAIRY  SPLENDOR  33 

bur.  It  becomes  a  person.  The  man  in  the 
Arabian  tale  speaks  to  the  magic  carpet.  It 
carries  him  whithersoever  he  desires.  This 
yearning  for  personaHty  in  furniture  begins 
to  be  crudely  worked  upon  in  the  so-called 
trick-scenes.  The  typical  commercialized  com- 
edy of  this  sort  is  Moving  Day.  Lyman  H. 
Howe,  among  many  excellent  reels  of  a  different 
kind,  has  films  allied  to  Moving  Day. 

But  let  us  examine  at  this  point,  as  even 
more  typical,  an  old  Pathe  Film  from  France. 
The  representatives  of  the  moving-firm  are 
sent  for.  They  appear  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  with  an  astonishing  jump.  They  are  told 
that  this  household  desires  to  have  its  goods 
and  hearthstone  gods  transplanted  two  streets 
east.  The  agents  salute.  They  disappear. 
Yet  their  wireless  orders  are  obeyed  with  a 
military  crispness.  The  books  and  newspapers 
climb  out  of  the  window.  They  go  soberly 
down  the  street.  In  their  wake  are  the  dishes 
from  the  table.  Then  the  more  delicate  porce- 
lains climb  down  the  shelves  and  follow. 
Then  follow  the  hobble-de-hoy  kitchen  dishes, 
then  the  chairs,  then  the  clothing,  and  the 
carpets  from  over  the  house.  The  most  joy- 
ous and  curious  spectacle  is  to  behold  the  shoes 


34    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

walking  down  the  boulevard,  from  father's 
large  boots  to  those  of  the  youngest  child. 
They  form  a  complete  satire  of  the  family,  yet 
have  a  masterful  air  of  their  own,  as  though  they 
were  the  most  important  part  of  a  human  being. 

The  new  apartment  is  shown.  Everything 
enters  in  procession.  In  contrast  to  the  gen- 
eral certainty  of  the  rest,  one  or  two  pieces 
of  furniture  grow  confused  trying  to  find  their 
places.  A  plate,  in  leaping  upon  a  high  shelf, 
misses  and  falls  broken.  The  broom  and  dust- 
pan sweep  up  the  pieces,  and  consign  them  to 
the  dustbin.  Then  the  human  family  comes 
in,  delighted  to  find  everything  in  order.  The 
moving  agents  appear  and  salute.  They  are 
paid  their  fee.  They  salute  again  and  dis- 
appear with  another  gigantic  leap. 

The  ability  to  do  this  kind  of  a  thing  is 
fundamental  in  the  destinies  of  the  art.  Yet 
this  resource  is  neglected  because  its  special 
province  is  not  understood.  ''People  do  not 
like  to  be  tricked,"  the  manager  says.  Cer- 
tainly they  become  tired  of  mere  contraptions. 
But  they  never  grow  weary  of  imagination. 
There  is  possible  many  a  highly  imaginative 
fairy-tale  on  this  basis  if  we  revert  to  the  sound 
principles  of  the  story  of  the  old  lady  and  the  pig. 


FAIRY  SPLENDOR  35 

Moving  Day  is  at  present  too  crassly  ma- 
terial. It  has  not  the  touch  of  the  creative 
imagination.  We  are  overwhelmed  with  a 
whole  van  of  furniture.  Now  the  mechanical 
or  non-human  object,  beginning  with  the  en- 
gine in  the  second  chapter,  is  apt  to  be  the  hero 
in  most  any  sort  of  photoplay  while  the  pro- 
ducer remains  utterly  unconscious  of  the  fact. 
Why  not  face  this  idiosyncrasy  of  the  camera  and 
make  the  non-human  object  the  hero  indeed? 
Not  by  filling  the  story  with  ropes,  buckets,  fire- 
brands, and  sticks,  but  by  having  these  four 
unique.  Make  the  fire  the  loveliest  of  torches, 
the  water  the  most  graceful  of  springs.  Let 
the  rope  be  the  humorist.  Let  the  stick  be 
the  outstanding  hero,  the  D'Artagnan  of  the 
group,  full  of  queer  gestures  and  hoppings 
about.  Let  him  be  both  polite  and  obdurate. 
Finally  let  him  beat  the  dog  most  heroically. 

Then,  after  the  purely  trick-picture  is  dis- 
ciplined till  it  has  fewer  tricks,  and  those 
more  human  and  yet  more  fanciful,  the  pro- 
ducer can  move  on  up  into  the  higher  realms 
of  the  fairy-tale,  carrying  with  him  this  riper 
workmanship. 

Mabel  Taliaferro's  Cinderella,  seen  long  ago. 


36    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

is  the  best  film  fairy-tale  the  present  writer 
remembers.  It  has  more  of  the  fireside  won- 
der-spirit and  Hallowe'en-witch-spirit  than  the 
Cinderella  of  Mary  Pickford. 

There  is  a  Japanese  actor,  Sessue  Hayakawa, 
who  takes  the  leading  part  with  Blanche 
Sweet  in  The  Clew,  and  is  the  hero  in  the  film 
version  of  The  Typhoon.  He  looks  like  all 
the  actors  in  the  old  Japanese  prints.  He 
has  a  general  dramatic  equipment  which  en- 
ables him  to  force  through  the  stubborn  screen 
such  stagy  plays  as  these,  that  are  more 
worth  while  in  the  speaking  theatre.  But 
he  has  that  atmosphere  of  pictorial  romance 
which  would  make  him  a  valuable  man  for  the 
retelling  of  the  old  Japanese  legends  of  Kwan- 
non  and  other  tales  that  are  rich,  unused  mov- 
ing picture  material,  tales  such  as  have  been 
hinted  at  in  the  gleaming  English  of  Lafcadio 
Hearn.  The  Japanese  genius  is  eminently 
pictorial.  Rightly  viewed,  every  Japanese 
screen  or  bit  of  lacquer  is  from  the  Ancient 
Asia  Columbus  set  sail  to  find. 

It  would  be  a  noble  thing  if  American  experts 
in  the  Japanese  principles  of  decoration,  of  the 
school  of  Arthur  W.  Dow,  should  tell  stories  of 
old  Japan  with  the  assistance  of  such  men  as 


FAIRY  SPLENDOR  37 

Sessue  Hayakawa.  Such  things  go  further  / 
than  peace  treaties.  Dooming  a  talent  like 
that  of  Mr.  Hayakawa  to  the  task  of  inter- 
preting the  Japanese  spy  does  not  conduce 
to  accord  with  Japan,  however  the  technique 
may  move  us  to  admiration.  Let  such  of  us 
as  are  at  peace  get  together,  and  tell  the  tales  j 
of  our  happy  childhood  to  one  another. 

This  chapter  is  ended.  You  will  of  course 
expect  to  be  exhorted  to  visit  some  photoplay 
emporium.  But  you  need  not  look  for  fairy- 
tales. They  are  much  harder  to  find  than 
they  should  be.  But  you  can  observe  even  in 
the  advertisements  and  cartoons  the  technical 
elements  of  the  story  of  the  old  lady  and  the 
pig.  And  you  can  note  several  other  things 
that  show  how  much  more  quickly  than  on 
the  stage  the  borderline  of  All  Saints'  Day  and 
Hallowe'en  can  be  crossed.  Note  how  easily 
memories  are  called  up,  and  appear  in  the 
midst  of  the  room.  In  any  plays  whatever, 
you  will  find  these  apparitions  and  recollec- 
tions. The  dullest  hero  is  given  glorious  visual- 
izing power.  Note  the  "  fadeaway  "  at  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end  of  the  reel,  whereby  all  things 
emerge  from  the  twilight  and  sink  back  into 
the  twilight  at  last.     These  are  some  of  the 


38    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

indestructible  least  common  denominators  of 
folk  stories  old  and  new.  When  skilfully 
used,  they  can  all  exercise  a  power  over  the 
audience,  such  as  the  crystal  has  over  the 
crystal-gazer. 

But  this  discussion  will  be  resumed,  on  an- 
other plane,  in  the  tenth  chapter :  "  Furni- 
ture, Trappings,  and  Inventions  in  Motion." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  PICTURE   OF   CROWD   SPLENDOR 

Henceforth  the  reader  will  use  his  dis- 
cretion as  to  when  he  will  read  the  chapter 
and  when  he  will  go  to  the  picture  show  to 
verify  it. 

The  shoddiest  silent  drama  may  contain 
noble  views  of  the  sea.  This  part  is  almost 
sure  to  be  good.     It  is  a  fundamental  resource. 

A  special  development  of  this  aptitude  in 
the  hands  of  an  expert  gives  the  sea  of  humanity, 
not  metaphorically  but  literally :  the  whirling 
of  dancers  in  ballrooms,  handkerchief-waving 
masses  of  people  in  balconies,  hat-waving 
political  ratification  meetings,  ragged  glowering 
strikers,  and  gossiping,  dickering  people  in 
the  market-place.  Only  GriflSth  and  his  close 
disciples  can  do  these  as  well  as  most  any 
manager  can  reproduce  the  ocean.  Yet  the  sea 
of  humanity  is  dramatically  blood-brother  to 
the  Pacific,  Atlantic,  or  Mediterranean.  It 
takes    this    new   invention,    the    kinetoscope. 


40    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

to  bring  us  these  panoramic  drama-elements. 
By  the  law  of  compensation,  while  the  motion 
picture  is  shallow  in  showing  private  passion, 
it  is  powerful  in  conveying  the  passions  of 
masses  of  men.  Bernard  Shaw,  in  a  recent 
number  of  the  Metropolitan,  answered  several 
questions  in  regard  to  the  photoplay.  Here 
are  two  bits  from  his  discourse :  — 

'*  Strike  the  dialogue  from  Moliere's  Tar- 
tuffe,  and  what  audience  would  bear  its  mere 
stage-business?  Imagine  the  scene  in  which 
lago  poisons  Othello's  mind  against  Desdemona, 
conveyed  in  dumb  show.  What  becomes  of 
the  difference  between  Shakespeare  and  Sheri- 
dan Knowles  in  the  film  ?  Or  between  Shake- 
speare's Lear  and  any  one  else's  Lear  ?  No,  it 
seems  to  me  that  all  the  interest  lies  in  the 
new  opening  for  the  mass  of  dramatic  talent 
formerly  disabled  by  incidental  deficiencies  of 
one  sort  or  another  that  do  not  matter  in  the 
picture-theatre.  ..." 

"Failures  of  the  spoken  drama  may  become 
the  stars  of  the  picture  palace.  And  there 
are  the  authors  with  imagination,  visualiza- 
tion and  first-rate  verbal  gifts  who  can  write 
novels  and  epics,  but  cannot  for  the  life  of  them 
write  plays.     Well,  the  film  lends  itself  admi- 


PICTURE  OF  CROWD  SPLENDOR      41 

rably  to  the  succession  of  events  proper  to 
narrative  and  epic,  but  physically  impracticable 
on  the  stage.  Paradise  Lost  would  make  a 
far  better  film  than  Ibsen's  John  Gabriel  Bork- 
man,  though  Borkman  is  a  dramatic  master- 
piece, and  Milton  could  not  write  an  effective 
play." 

Note  in  especial  what  Shaw  says  about  nar- 
rative, epic,  and  Paradise  Lost.  He  has  in  mind, 
no  doubt,  the  pouring  hosts  of  demons  and 
angels.     This  is  one  kind  of  a  Crowd  Picture. 

There  is  another  sort  to  be  seen  where  George 
Beban  impersonates  The  Italian  in  a  film  of 
that  title,  by  Thomas  H.  Ince  and  G.  Gardener 
Sullivan.  The  first  part,  taken  ostensibly  in 
Venice,  delineates  the  festival  spirit  of  the  people 
on  the  bridges  and  in  gondolas.  It  gives  out 
the  atmosphere  of  town-crowd  happiness. 
Then  comes  the  vineyard,  the  crowd  senti- 
ment of  a  merry  grape-harvest,  then  the 
massed  emotion  of  many  people  embarking 
on  an  Atlantic  liner  telling  good-by  to 
their  kindred  on  the  piers,  then  the  drama 
of  arrival  in  New  York.  The  wonder  of  the 
steerage  people  pouring  down  their  proper 
gangway  is  contrasted  with  the  conventional 
at-home-ness  of  the  first-class  passengers  above. 


42    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Then  we  behold  the  seething  human  cauldron 
of  the  East  Side,  then  the  jolly  little  wedding- 
dance,  then  the  life  of  the  East  Side,  from  the 
policeman  to  the  peanut-man,  and  including 
the  bar  tender,  for  the  crowd  is  treated  on  two 
separate  occasions. 

It  is  hot  weather.  The  mobs  of  children 
follow  the  ice-wagon  for  chips  of  ice.  They 
besiege  the  fountain-end  of  the  street-sprinkling 
wagon  quite  closely,  rejoicing  to  have  their 
clothes  soaked.  They  gather  round  the  fire- 
plug that  is  turned  on  for  their  benefit,  and 
again  become  wet  as  drowned  rats. 

Passing  through  these  crowds  are  George 
Beban  and  Clara  Williams  as  The  Italian 
and  his  sweetheart.  They  owe  the  force  of 
their  acting  to  the  fact  that  they  express  each 
mass  of  humanity  in  turn.  Their  child  is 
born.  It  does  not  flourish.  It  represents  in  an 
acuter  way  another  phase  of  the  same  child- 
struggle  with  the  heat  that  the  gamins  indicate 
in  their  pursuit  of  the  water-cart. 

Then  a  deeper  matter.  The  hero  repre- 
sents in  a  fashion  the  adventures  of  the  whole 
Italian  race  coming  to  America:  its  natural 
southern  gayety  set  in  contrast  to  the  drab 
East  Side.     The  gondolier  becomes  boot-black. 


PICTURE  OF  CROWD  SPLENDOR      43 

The  grape-gathering  peasant  girl  becomes  the 
suffering  slum  mother.  They  are  not  special- 
ized characters  like  Pendennis  or  Becky  Sharp 
in  the  Novels  of  Thackeray. 

Omitting  the  last  episode,  the  entrance  into 
the  house  of  Corrigan,  The  Italian  is  a  strong 
piece  of  work* 

Another  kind  of  Crowd  Picture  is  The  Battle, 
an  old  Griffith  Biograph,  first  issued  in  1911, 
before  Griffith's  name  or  that  of  any  actor 
in  films  was  advertised.  Blanche  Sweet  is 
the  leading  lady,  and  Charles  H.  West  the 
leading  man.  The  psychology  of  a  bevy  of 
village  lovers  is  conveyed  in  a  lively  sweet- 
hearting  dance.  Then  the  boy  and  his  com- 
rades go  forth  to  war.  The  lines  pass  between 
hand-waving  crowds  of  friends  from  the  entire 
neighborhood.  These  friends  give  the  sense 
of  patriotism  in  mass.  Then  as  the  conse- 
quence of  this  feeling,  as  the  special  agents  to 
express  it,  the  soldiers  are  in  battle.  By  the 
fortunes  of  war  the  onset  is  unexpectedly  near 
to  the  house  where  once  was  the  dance. 

The  boy  is  at  first  a  coward.  He  enters 
the  old  familiar  door.  He  appeals  to  the  girl 
to  hide  him,  and  for  the  time  breaks  her  heart. 
He  goes  forth  a  fugitive  not  only  from  battle. 


44    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

but  from  her  terrible  girlish  anger.  But  later 
he  rallies.  He  brings  a  train  of  powder  wagons 
through  fires  built  in  his  path  by  the  enemy's 
scouts.  He  loses  every  one  of  his  men,  and 
all  but  the  last  wagon,  which  he  drives  him- 
self. His  return  with  that  ammunition  saves 
the  hard-fought  day. 

And  through  all  this,  glimpses  of  the  battle 
are  given  with  a  splendor  that  only  Griffith 
has  attained. 

Blanche  Sweet  stands  as  the  representative 
of  the  bevy  of  girls  in  the  house  of  the  dance, 
and  the  whole  body  social  of  the  village.  How 
the  costumes  flash  and  the  handkerchiefs  wave 
around  her !  In  the  battle  the  hero  represents 
the  cowardice  that  all  the  men  are  resisting 
within  themselves.  When  he  returns,  he  is 
the  incarnation  of  the  hardihood  they  have 
all  hoped  to  display.  Only  the  girl  knows  he 
was  first  a  failure.  The  wounded  general 
honors  him  as  the  hero  above  all.  Now  she 
is  radiant,  she  cannot  help  but  be  triumphant, 
though  the  side  of  the  house  is  blown  out  by  a 
shell  and  the  dying  are  everywhere. 

This  one-reel  work  of  art  has  been  reissued 
of  late  by  the  Biograph  Company.  It  should 
be  kept  in  the  libraries  of  the  Universities  as  a 


PICTURE  OF  CROWD  SPLENDOR      45 

standard.  One-reel  films  are  unfortunate  in  this 
sense  that  in  order  to  see  a  favorite  the  student 
must  wait  through  five  other  reels  of  a  mixed  pro- 
gramme that  usually  is  bad.  That  is  the  reason 
one-reel  masterpieces  seldom  appear  now.  The 
producer  in  a  mood  to  make  a  special  effort  wants 
to  feel  that  he  has  the  entire  evening,  and  that 
nothing  before  or  after  is  going  to  be  a  bore  or 
destroy  the  impression.  So  at  present  the  pains- 
taking films  are  apt  to  be  five  or  six  reels  of 
twenty  minutes  each.  These  have  the  ad- 
vantage that  if  they  please  at  all,  one  can  see 
them  again  at  once  without  sitting  through 
irrelevant  slap-stick  work  put  there  to  fill  out 
the  time.  But  now,  having  the  whole  evening 
to  work  in,  the  producer  takes  too  much  time 
for  his  good  ideas.  I  shall  reiterate  through- 
out this  work  the  necessity  for  restraint. 
A  one  hour  programme  is  long  enough  for 
any  one.  If  the  observer  is  pleased,  he  will 
sit  it  through  again  and  take  another  hour. 
There  is  not  a  good  film  in  the  world  but  is 
the  better  for  being  seen  in  immediate  suc- 
cession to  itself.  Six -reel  programmes  are  a 
weariness  to  the  flesh.  The  best  of  the  old 
one-reel  Biographs  of  Griffith  contained  more 
in  twenty  minutes  than  these  ambitious  incon- 


46    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

tinent  six-reel  displays  give  us  in  two  hours. 
It  would  pay  a  manager  to  hang  out  a  sign: 
"This  show  is  only  twenty  minutes  long,  but 
it  is  Griffith's  great  film  '  The  Battle.'  " 

But  I  am  digressing.  To  continue  the  contrast 
between  private  passion  in  the  theatre  and 
crowd-passion  in  the  photoplay,  let  us  turn  to 
Shaw  again.  Consider  his  illustration  of  lago, 
Othello,  and  Lear.  These  parts,  as  he  implies, 
would  fall  flat  in  motion  pictures.  The  minor 
situations  of  dramatic  intensity  might  in  many 
cases  be  built  up.  The  crisis  would  inevitably 
fail.  lago  and  Othello  and  Lear,  whatever 
their  offices  in  their  governments,  are  essen- 
tially private  persons,  individuals  in  extremis. 
If  you  go  to  a  motion  picture  and  feel  yourself 
suddenly  gripped  by  the  highest  dramatic 
tension,  as  on  the  old  stage,  and  reflect  after- 
ward that  it  was  a  fight  between  only  two  or 
three  men  in  a  room  otherwise  empty,  stop  to 
analyze  what  they  stood  for.  They  were  prob- 
ably representatives  of  groups  or  races  that  had 
been  pursuing  each  other  earlier  in  the  film. 
Otherwise  the  conflict,  however  violent, 
appealed  mainly  to  the  sense  of  speed. 

So,  in  The  Birth  of  a  Nation,  which  could 
better   be    called    The    Overthrow    of    Negro 


PICTURE  OF  CROWD  SPLENDOR      47 

Rule,  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  dashes  down  the  road 
as  powerfully  as  Niagara  pours  over  the  cliff. 
Finally  the  white  girl  Elsie  Stoneman  (imper- 
sonated by  Lillian  Gish)  is  rescued  by  the  Ku 
Klux  Klan  from  the  mulatto  politician,  Silas 
Lynch  (impersonated  by  George  Seigmann). 
The  lady  is  brought  forward  as  a  typical  help- 
less white  maiden.  The  white  leader.  Col. 
Ben  Cameron  (impersonated  by  Henry  B. 
Walthall),  enters  not  as  an  individual,  but  as 
representing  the  whole  Anglo-Saxon  Niagara. 
He  has  the  mask  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  on  his 
face  till  the  crisis  has  passed.  The  wrath  of 
the  Southerner  against  the  blacks  and  their 
Northern  organizers  has  been  piled  up  through 
many  previous  scenes.  As  a  result  this  rescue 
is  a  real  climax,  something  the  photoplays  that 
trace  strictly  personal  hatreds  cannot  achieve. 

The  Birth  of  a  Nation  is  a  Crowd  Picture 
in  a  triple  sense.  On  the  films,  as  in  the  audi- 
ence, it  turns  the  crowd  into  a  mob  that  is 
either  for  or  against  the  Reverend  Thomas 
Dixon's  poisonous  hatred  of  the  negro. 

Griffith  is  a  chameleon  in  interpreting  his 
authors.  Wherever  the  scenario  shows  traces 
of  The  Clansman,  the  original  book,  by  Thomas 
Dixon,  it  is  bad.     Wherever  it  is  unadulterated 


48    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Griffith,  which  is  half  the  time,  it  is  good. 
The  Reverend  Thomas  Dixon  is  a  rather 
stagy  Simon  Legree :  in  his  avowed  views  a  deal 
like  the  gentleman  with  the  spiritual  hydro- 
phobia in  the  latter  end  of  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 
Unconsciously  Mr.  Dixon  has  done  his  best  to 
prove  that  Legree  was  not  a  fictitious  character. 

Joel  Chandler  Harris,  Harry  Stillwell  Ed- 
wards, George  W.  Cable,  Thomas  Nelson  Page, 
James  Lane  Allen,  and  Mark  Twain  are  South- 
ern men  in  Mr.  Griffith's  class.  I  recommend 
their  works  to  him  as  a  better  basis  for  future 
Southern  scenarios. 

The  Birth  of  a  Nation  has  been  very  properly 
denounced  for  its  Simon  Legree  qualities  by 
Francis  Hackett,  Jane  Addams,  and  others. 
But  it  is  still  true  that  it  is  a  wonder  in  its 
Griffith  sections.  In  its  handling  of  masses 
of  men  it  further  illustrates  the  principles 
that  made  notable  the  old  one-reel  Battle  film 
described  in  the  beginning  of  this  chapter.  The 
Battle  in  the  end  is  greater,  because  of  its 
self-possession  and  concentration :  all  packed 
into  twenty  minutes. 

When,  in  The  Birth  of  a  Nation,  Lincoln 
(impersonated  by  Joseph  Henabery)  goes  down 


PICTURE  OF  CROWD  SPLENDOR      49 

before  the  assassin,  it  is  a  master-scene.  He 
falls  as  the  representative  of  the  government  and 
a  thousand  high  and  noble  crowd  aspirations. 
The  mimic  audience  in  the  restored  Ford's 
Theatre  rises  in  panic.  This  crowd  is  inter- 
preted in  especial  for  us  by  the  two  young 
people  in  the  seats  nearest,  and  the  freezing 
horror  of  the  treason  sweeps  from  the  Ford's 
Theatre  audience  to  the  real  audience  beyond 
them.  The  real  crowd  touched  with  terror 
beholds  its  natural  face  in  the  glass. 

Later  come  the  pictures  of  the  rioting  negroes 
in  the  streets  of  the  southern  town,  mobs 
splendidly  handled,  tossing  wildly  and  rhythmi- 
cally like  the  sea.  Then  is  delineated  the  rise  of 
the  Ku  Klux  Klan,  of  which  we  have  already 
spoken.  For  comment  on  the  musical  accom- 
paniment to  The  Birth  of  a  Nation,  read  the 
fourteenth  chapter  entitled  "The  Orchestra, 
Conversation  and  the  Censorship." 

In  the  future  development  of  motion  pic- 
tures mob-movements  of  anger  and  joy  will 
go  through  fanatical  and  provincial  whirlwinds 
into  great  national  movements  of  anger  and  joy. 

A  book  by  Gerald  Stanley  Lee  that  has  a 
score  of  future  scenarios  in  it,  a  book  that  might 
well  be  dipped  into  by  the  reader  before  he 


50    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

goes  to  such  a  play  as  The  Italian  or  The 
Battle,  is  the  work  which  bears  the  title  of 
this  chapter :  "  Crowds." 

Mr.  Lee  is  far  from  infallible  in  his  remedies 
for  factory  and  industrial  relations.  But  in 
sensitiveness  to  the  flowing  street  of  humanity 
he  is  indeed  a  man.  Listen  to  the  names  of 
some  of  the  divisions  of  his  book:  "Crowds 
and  Machines;  Letting  the  Crowds  be  Good; 
Letting  the  Crowds  be  Beautiful;  Crowds 
and  Heroes;  Where  are  we  Going.?  The 
Crowd  Scare;  The  Strike,  an  Invention  for 
making  Crowds  Think ;  The  Crowd's  Imagina- 
tion about  People;  Speakinft  ^s  One  of  the 
Crowd ;  Touching  the  Imagination  of  Crowds." 
Films  in  the  spirit  of  these  pities  would  help 
to  make  world- voters  of  us  all. 

/  The  World  State  is  indeed  far  away.  But 
as  we  peer  into  the  Mirror  Screen  some  of  us 
dare  to  look  forward  to  the  time  when  the  pour- 
ing streets  of  men  will  become  sacred  in  each 

1  other's  eyes,  in  pictures  and  in  fact. 

A  further  discussion  of  this  theme  on  other 
planes  will  be  found  in  the  eleventh  chapter, 
entitled  "Architecture-in-Motion,"  and  the 
fifteenth  chapter,  entitled  "The  Substitute 
for  the  Saloon." 


CHAPTER  VI 


PATRIOTIC   SPLENDOR 


The  Patriotic  Picture  need  not  necessarily 
be  in  terms  of  splendor.  It  generally  is. 
Beginning  the  chronicle  is  one  that  waves  no 
banners. 

The  Typhoon,  a  film  produced  by  Thomas 
H.  Ince,  is  a  story  of  the  Japanese  love  of 
Nippon  in  which  a  very  little  of  the  land- 
scape of  the  nation  is  shown,  and  that  in 
the  beginning.  The  hero  (acted  by  Sessue 
Hayakawa),  living  in  the  heart  of  Paris,  repre- 
sents the  far-off  Empire.  He  is  making  a 
secret  military  report.  He  is  a  responsible 
member  of  a  colony  of  Japanese  gentlemen. 
The  bevy  of  them  appear  before  or  after  his 
every  important  action.  He  still  represents 
this  crowd  when  alone. 

The  unfortunate  Parisian  heroine,  unable 
to  fathom  the  mystery  of  the  fanatical  hearts 
of  the  colony,  ventures  to  think  that  her  love 
for  the  Japanese  hero  and  his  equally  great 

51 


52    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

devotion  to  her  is  the  important  human  rela- 
tion on  the  horizon.  She  flouts  his  obscure 
work,  pits  her  charms  against  it.  In  the  end 
there  is  a  quarrel.  The  irresistible  meets  the 
immovable,  and  in  madness  or  half  by  accident, 
he  kills  the  girl. 

The  youth  is  protected  by  the  colony,  for  he 
alone  can  make  the  report.  He  is  the  machine- 
like representative  of  the  Japanese  patriotic 
formula,  till  the  document  is  complete.  A 
new  arrival  in  the  colony,  who  obviously  can- 
not write  the  book,  confesses  the  murder  and 
is  executed.  The  other  high  fanatic  dies  soon 
after,  of  a  broken  heart,  with  the  completed 
manuscript  volume  in  his  hand.  The  one  im- 
pression of  the  play  is  that  Japanese  patriot- 
ism is  a  peculiar  and  fearful  thing.  The  par- 
ticular quality  of  the  private  romance  is  but 
vaguely  given,  for  such  things  in  their  rise  and 
culmination  can  only  be  traced  by  the  novelist, 
or  by  the  gentle  alternations  of  silence  and 
speech  on  the  speaking  stage,  aided  by  the 
hot  blood  of  players  actually  before  us. 

Here,  as  in  most  photoplays,  the  attempted 
lover-conversations  in  pantomime  are  but  in- 
different things.  The  details  of  the  hero's 
last  quarrel  with  the  heroine  and  the  precise 


PATRIOTIC  SPLENDOR  53 

thoughts  that  went  with  it  are  mujQBed  by  the 
inability  to  speak.  The  power  of  the  play  is 
in  the  adequate  style  the  man  represents  the  col- 
ony. Sessue  Hayakawa  should  give  us  Japan- 
ese tales  more  adapted  to  the  films.  We 
should  have  stories  of  lyeyasu  and  Hideyoshi, 
written  from  the  ground  up  for  the  photoplay 
theatre.  We  should  have  the  story  of  the 
forty-seven  Ronin,  not  a  Japanese  stage  ver- 
sion, but  a  work  from  the  source-material. 
We  should  have  legends  of  the  various  clans, 
picturizations  of  the  code  of  the  Samurai. 

The  Typhoon  is  largely  indoors.  But  the 
Patriotic  Motion  Picture  is  generally  a  land- 
scape. This  is  for  deeper  reasons  than  that 
it  requires  large  fields  in  which  to  manoeuvre 
armies.  Flags  are  shown  for  other  causes 
than  that  they  are  the  nominal  signs  of  a  love 
of  the  native  land. 

In  a  comedy  of  the  history  of  a  newspaper, 
the  very  columns  of  the  publication  are 
actors,  and  may  be  photographed  oftener  than 
the  human  hero.  And  in  the  higher  realms 
this  same  tendency  gives  particular  power  to 
the  panorama  and  trappings.  It  makes  the 
natural  and  artificial  magnificence  more  than 
a  narrative,  more  than  a  color-scheme,  some- 


54    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

thing  other  than  a  drama.  In  a  photoplay 
by  a  master,  when  the  American  flag  is  shown, 
the  thirteen  stripes  are  columns  of  history 
and  the  stars  are  headlines.  The  woods  and 
the  templed  hills  are  their  printing  press,  al- 
most in  a  literal  sense. 

Going  back  to  the  illustration  of  the  engine, 
in  chapter  two,  the  non-human  thing  is  a  per- 
sonality, even  if  it  is  not  beautiful.  When  it 
takes  on  the  ritual  of  decorative  design,  this 
new  vitality  is  made  seductive,  and  when  it  is 
an  object  of  nature,  this  seductive  ritual  be- 
comes a  new  pantheism.  The  armies  upon 
the  mountains  they  are  defending  are  rooted 
in  the  soil  like  trees.  They  resist  invasion 
with  the  same  elementary  stubbornness  with 
which  the  oak  resists  the  storm  or  the  cliff 
resists  the  wave. 

Let  the  reader  consider  Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra, the  Cines  film.  It  was  brought  to 
America  from  Italy  by  George  Klein.  This 
and  several  ambitious  spectacles  like  it  are 
direct  violations  of  the  foregoing  principles. 
True,  it  glorifies  Rome.  It  is  equivalent  to 
waving  the  Italian  above  the  Egyptian  flag, 
quite  slowly  for  two  hours.     From  the  stage 


PATRIOTIC  SPLENDOR  55 

standpoint,  the  magnificence  is  thoroughgoing. 
Viewed  as  a  circus,  the  acting  is  elephantine 
in  its  grandeur.  All  that  is  needed  is  pink 
lemonade  sold  in  the  audience. 

The  famous  Cabiria,  a  tale  of  war  between 
Rome  and  Carthage,  by  D'Annunzio,  is  a 
prime  example  of  a  success,  where  Antony 
and  Cleopatra  and  many  European  films 
founded  upon  the  classics  have  been  fail- 
ures. With  obvious  defects  as  a  producer, 
D'Annunzio  appreciates  spectacular  symbolism. 
He  has  an  instinct  for  the  strange  and  the 
beautifully  infernal,  as  they  are  related  to 
decorative  design.  Therefore  he  is  able  to 
show  us  Carthage  indeed.  He  has  an  Italian 
patriotism  that  amounts  to  frenzy.  So  Rome 
emerges  body  and  soul  from  the  past,  in  this 
spectacle.  He  gives  us  the  cruelty  of  Baal, 
the  intrepidity  of  the  Latin  legions.  Every- 
thing Punic  or  Italian  in  the  middle  distance 
or  massed  background  speaks  of  the  very 
genius  of  the  people  concerned  and  actively 
generates  their  kind  of  lightning. 

The  principals  do  not  carry  out  the  momen- 
tum of  this  immense  resource.  The  half  a 
score  of  leading  characters,  with  the  costumes, 
gestiu*es,  and  aspects  of  gods,   are  after  all 


56    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

works  of  the  taxidermist.  They  are  stuffed 
gods.  They  conduct  a  silly  nickelodeon  ro- 
mance while  Carthage  rolls  on  toward  her  doom. 
They  are  like  sparrows  fighting  for  grain  on 
the  edge  of  the  battle. 

The  doings  of  his  principals  are  sufficiently 
evident  to  be  grasped  with  a  word  or  two  of 
printed  insert  on  the  films.  But  he  senti- 
mentalizes about  them.  He  adds  side-elabo- 
rations of  the  plot  that  would  require  much 
time  to  make  clear,  and  a  hard  working  novel- 
ist to  make  interesting.  We  are  sentenced  to 
stop  and  gaze  long  upon  this  array  of  printing 
in  the  darkness,  just  at  the  moment  the  tenth 
wave  of  glory  seems  ready  to  sweep  in.  But 
one  hundred  words  cannot  be  a  photoplay 
climax.  The  climax  must  be  in  a  tableau 
that  is  to  the  eye  as  the  rising  sun  itself,  that 
follows  the  thousand  flags  of  the  dawn. 

In  the  New  York  performance,  and  pre- 
sumably in  other  large  cities,  there  was  also 
an  orchestra.  Behold  then,  one  layer  of  great 
photoplay,  one  layer  of  bad  melodrama,  one 
layer  of  explanation,  and  a  final  cement  of 
music.  It  is  as  though  in  an  art  museum  there 
should  be  a  man  at  the  door  selling  would-be 
masterly    short-stories    about    the    paintings. 


PATRIOTIC  SPLENDOR  57 

and  a  man  with  a  violin  playing  the  catalogue. 
But  for  further  discourse  on  the  orchestra 
read  the  fourteenth  chapter. 

I  left  Cabiria  with  mixed  emotions.  And 
I  had  to  forget  the  distressful  eye-strain.  Few 
eyes  submit  without  destruction  to  three  hours 
of  film.  But  the  mistakes  of  Cabiria  are  those 
of  the  pioneer  work  of  genius.  It  has  in  it 
twenty  great  productions.  It  abounds  in  sug- 
gestions. Once  the  classic  rules  of  this  art- 
unit  are  established,  men  with  equal  genius 
with  D'Annunzio  and  no  more  devotion,  will 
give  us  the  world's  masterpieces.  As  it  is, 
the  background  and  mass-movements  must 
stand  as  monumental  achievements  in  vital 
patriotic  splendor. 

D'Annunzio  is  Griffith's  most  inspired  rival 
in  these  things.  He  lacks  Griffith's  knowledge 
of  what  is  photoplay  and  what  is  not.  He 
lacks  Griffith's  simplicity  of  hurdle-race  plot. 
He  lacks  his  avalanche-like  action.  The  Italian 
needs  the  American's  health  and  clean  winds. 
He  needs  his  foregrounds,  leading  actors,  and 
types  of  plot.  But  the  American  has  never  gone 
as  deep  as  the  Italian  into  landscapes  that  are 
their  own  tragedians,  and  into  Satanic  and 
celestial   ceremonials. 


58    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Judith  of  Bethulia  and  The  Battle  Hymn 
of  the  Republic  have  impressed  me  as  the 
two  most  significant  photoplays  I  have  ever 
encountered.  They  may  be  classed  with  equal 
justice  as  religious  or  patriotic  productions. 
But  for  reasons  which  will  appear,  The  Battle 
Hymn  of  the  Republic  will  be  classed  as  a 
film  of  devotion  and  Judith  as  a  patriotic  one. 
The  latter  was  produced  by  D.  W.  Griflith, 
and  released  by  the  Biograph  Company  in  1914. 
The  original  stage  drama  was  once  played 
by  the  famous  Boston  actress,  Nance  O'Neil. 
It  is  the  work  of  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 
The  motion  picture  scenario,  when  Griffith 
had  done  with  it,  had  no  especial  Aldrich 
flavor,  though  it  contained  several  of  the  char- 
acters and  events  as  Aldrich  conceived  them. 
It  was  principally  the  old  apocryphal  story 
plus  the  genius  of  Griffith  and  that  inner  cir- 
cle of  players  whom  he  has  endowed  with  much 
of  his  point  of  view. 

This  is  his  cast  of  characters  :  — 

Judith Blanche  Sweet 

Holof  ernes     ....  Henry  Walthall 

His  servant    ....  J.  J.  Lance 

Captain  of  the  1  xr  ti  /I 
Guards         J 


PATRIOTIC  SPLENDOR  59 

Judith's  maid     .     .     .     Miss  Bruce 
General  of  the 


C.  H.  Mailes 

Jews 

J  Messrs.  Oppleman  and 
X  riesLS  •     •     *     •     •     *  \      -p       , 

[      Lestina 

Nathan Robert  Harron 

Naomi Mae  Marsh 

Keeper  of  the  slaves  1        .,„     ,  _, 
t     TT  1  t  f'     Alfred  Paget 

tor  Holofernes       j 

^,  r      •     •     •     Lillian  Gish 

mother     J 


The  Biograph  Company  advertises  the  pro- 
duction with  the  following  Barnum  and  Bailey 
enumeration:  "In  four  parts.  Produced  in 
California.  Most  expensive  Biograph  ever  pro- 
duced. More  than  one  thousand  people  and 
about  three  hundred  horsemen.  The  following 
were  built  expressly  for  the  production  :  a  replica 
of  the  ancient  city  of  Bethulia ;  the  mammoth 
wall  that  protected  Bethulia ;  a  faithful  repro- 
duction of  the  ancient  army  camps,  embody- 
ing all  their  barbaric  splendor  and  dances; 
chariots,  battering  rams,  scaling  ladders,  archer 
towers,  and  other  special  war  paraphernalia  of 
the   period. 

"  The  following  spectacular  effects  :  the  storm- 


60    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

ing  of  the  walls  of  the  city  of  Bethulia; 
the  hand-to-hand  conflicts;  the  death-defying 
chariot  charges  at  break-neck  speed ;  the  rear- 
ing and  plunging  horses  infuriated  by  the  din  of 
battle;  the  wonderful  camp  of  the  terrible 
Holofernes,  equipped  with  rugs  brought  from 
the  far  East ;  the  dancing  girls  in  their  exhibi- 
tion of  the  exquisite  and  peculiar  dances  of 
the  period ;  the  routing  of  the  command  of  the 
terrible  Holofernes,  and  the  destruction  of 
the  camp  by  fire.  And  overshadowing  all, 
the  heroism  of  the  beautiful  Judith." 

This  advertisement  should  be  compared 
with  the  notice  of  Your  Girl  and  Mine  tran- 
scribed in  the  seventeenth  chapter. 

But  there  is  another  point  of  view  by  which 
this  Judith  of  Bethulia  production  may  be 
approached,  however  striking  the  advertising 
notice. 

There  are  four  sorts  of  scenes  alternated : 
(1)  the  particular  history  of  Judith;  (2)  the 
gentle  courtship  of  Nathan  and  Naomi,  types 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Bethulia;  (3)  pictures 
of  the  streets,  with  the  population  flowing 
like  a  sluggish  river ;  (4)  scenes  of  raid,  camp, 
and  battle,  interpolated  between  these,  tying 
the  whole  together.     The  real  plot  is  the  bal- 


PATRIOTIC  SPLENDOR  61 

anced  alternation  of  all  the  elements.  So  many 
minutes  of  one,  then  so  many  minutes  of 
another.  As  was  proper,  very  little  of  the 
tale  was  thrown  on  the  screen  in  reading  matter, 
and  no  climax  was  ever  a  printed  word,  but 
always  an  enthralling  tableau. 

The  particular  history  of  Judith  begins 
with  the  picture  of  her  as  the  devout  widow. 
She  is  austerely  garbed,  at  prayer  for  her  city, 
in  her  own  quiet  house.  Then  later  she  is 
shown  decked  for  the  eyes  of  man  in  the  camp 
of  Holof ernes,  where  all  is  Assyrian  glory. 
Judith  struggles  between  her  unexpected  love 
for  the  dynamic  general  and  the  resolve  to 
destroy  him  that  brought  her  there.  In 
either  type  of  scene,  the  first  gray  and 
silver,  the  other  painted  with  Paul  Veronese 
splendor,  Judith  moves  with  a  delicate  delib- 
eration. Over  her  face  the  emotions  play 
like  winds  on  a  meadow  lake.  Holofernes  is 
the  composite  picture  of  all  the  Biblical  heathen 
chieftains.  His  every  action  breathes  power. 
He  is  an  Assyrian  bull,  a  winged  lion,  and  a  god 
at  the  same  time,  and  divine  honors  are  paid 
to  him  every  moment. 

Nathan  and  Naomi  are  two  Arcadian  lovers. 
In  their  shy  meetings  they  express  the  life  of 


62    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  normal  Bethulia.  They  are  seen  among 
the  reapers  outside  the  city  or  at  the  well  near 
the  wall,  or  on  the  streets  of  the  ancient  town. 
They  are  generally  doing  the  things  the  crowd 
behind  them  is  doing,  meanwhile  evolving 
their  own  little  heart  affair.  Finally  when 
the  Assyrian  comes  down  like  a  wolf  on  the 
fold,  the  gentle  Naomi  becomes  a  prisoner  in 
Holofernes'  camp.  She  is  in  the  foreground, 
a  representative  of  the  crowd  of  prisoners. 
Nathan  is  photographed  on  the  wall  as  the 
particular  defender  of  the  town  in  whom  we 
are  most  interested. 

The  pictures  of  the  crowd's  normal  activ- 
ities avoid  jerkiness  and  haste.  They  do 
not  abound  in  the  boresome  self-conscious 
quietude  that  some  producers  have  substituted 
for  the  usual  twitching.  Each  actor  in  the 
assemblies  has  a  refreshing  equipment  in  gentle 
gesticulation;  for  the  manners  and  customs 
of  Bethulia  must  needs  be  different  from 
those  of  America.  Though  the  population 
moves  together  as  a  river,  each  citizen  is  quite 
preoccupied.  To  the  furthest  corner  of  the 
picture,  they  are  egotistical  as  human  beings. 
The  elder  goes  by,  in  theological  conversa- 
tion with  his  friend.     He  thinks  his  theology  is 


PATRIOTIC  SPLENDOR  63 

important.  The  mother  goes  by,  all  absorbed 
in  her  child.  To  her  it  is  the  only  child  in  the 
world. 

Alternated  with  these  scenes  is  the  terrible 
rush  of  the  Assyrian  army,  on  to  exploration, 
battle,  and  glory.  The  speed  of  their  setting  out 
becomes  actual,  because  it  is  contrasted  with 
the  deliberation  of  the  Jewish  town.  At  length 
the  Assyrians  are  along  those  hills  and  valleys 
and  below  the  wall  of  defence.  The  popula- 
tion is  on  top  of  the  battlements,  beating  them 
back  the  more  desperately  because  they  are 
separated  from  the  water-supply,  the  wells 
in  the  fields  where  once  the  lovers  met.  In  a 
lull  in  the  siege,  by  a  connivance  of  the  elders, 
Judith  is  let  out  of  a  little  door  in  the  wall. 
And  while  the  fortune  of  her  people  is  most 
desperate  she  is  shown  in  the  quiet  shelter  of 
the  tent  of  Holof ernes.  Sinuous  in  grace, 
tranced,  passionately  in  love,  she  has  forgotten 
her  peculiar  task.  She  is  in  a  sense  Bethulia 
itself,  the  race  of  Israel  made  over  into  a 
woman,  while  Holofernes  is  the  embodiment 
of  the  besieging  army.  Though  in  a  quiet 
tent,  and  on  the  terms  of  love,  it  is  the  es- 
sential warfare  of  the  hot  Assyrian  blood  and 
the  pure  and  peculiar  Jewish  thoroughbredness. 


64    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Blanche  Sweet  as  Judith  is  indeed  dignified 
and  ensnaring,  the  more  so  because  in  her 
abandoned  quarter  of  an  hour  the  Jewish 
sanctity  does  not  leave  her.  And  her  aged 
woman  attendant,  coming  in  and  out,  sentinel 
and  conscience,  with  austere  face  and  lifted 
finger,  symbolizes  the  fire  of  Israel  that  shall 
yet  awaken  within  her.  When  her  love  for 
her  city  and  God  finally  becomes  paramount, 
she  shakes  off  the  spell  of  the  divine  honors 
which  she  has  followed  all  the  camp  in  accord- 
ing to  that  living  heathen  deity  Holofernes, 
and  by  the  very  transfiguration  of  her  figure 
and  countenance  we  know  that  the  deliverance 
of  Israel  is  at  hand.  She  beheads  the  dark 
Assyrian.  Soon  she  is  back  in  the  city,  by 
way  of  the  little  gate  by  which  she  emerged. 
The  elders  receive  her  and  her  bloody  trophy. 

The  people  who  have  been  dying  of  thirst 
arise  in  a  final  whirlwind  of  courage.  Bereft 
of  their  military  genius,  the  Assyrians  flee 
from  the  burning  camp.  Naomi  is  delivered 
by  her  lover  Nathan.  This  act  is  taken  by 
the  audience  as  a  type  of  the  setting  free  of  all 
the  captives.  Then  we  have  the  final  return 
of  the  citizens  to  their  town.  As  for  Judith, 
hers  is  no  crass  triumph.     She  is  shown  in  her 


PATRIOTIC  SPLENDOR  65 

gray  and  silvery  room  in  her  former  widow's 
dress,  but  not  the  same  woman.  There  is 
thwarted  love  in  her  face.  The  sword  of 
sorrow  is  there.  But  there  is  also  the  prayer 
of  thanksgiving.  She  goes  forth.  She  is  hailed 
as  her  city's  deliverer.  She  stands  among  the 
nobles  like  a  holy  candle. 

Providing  the  picture  may  be  preserved  in  its 
original  delicacy,  it  has  every  chance  to  retain 
a  place  in  the  affections  of  the  wise,  if  a  hum- 
ble pioneer  of  criticism  may  speak  his  honest 
mind. 

Though  in  this  story  the  archaic  flavor  is 
well-preserved,  the  way  the  producer  has  pic- 
tured the  population  at  peace,  in  battle,  in 
despair,  in  victory  gives  me  hope  that  he  or 
men  like  unto  him  will  illustrate  the  Amer- 
ican patriotic  crowd-prophecies.  We  must 
have  Whitmanesque  scenarios,  based  on  moods 
akin  to  that  of  the  poem  By  Blue  Ontario's 
Shore.  The  possibility  of  showing  the  entire 
American  population  its  own  face  in  the  Mirror 
Screen  has  at  last  come.  Whitman  brought 
the  idea  of  democracy  to  our  sophisticated 
literati,  but  did  not  persuade  the  democracy 
itself  to  read  his  democratic  poems.  Sooner 
or  later  the  kinetoscope  will  do  what  he  could 


66    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

not,  bring  the  nobler  side  of  the  equaHty  idea 
to  the  people  who  are  so  crassly  equal. 

The  photoplay  penetrates  in  our  land  to 
the  haunts  of  the  wildest  or  the  dullest.  The 
isolated  prospector  rides  twenty  miles  to  see 
the  same  film  that  is  displayed  on  Broadway. 
There  is  not  a  civilized  or  half-civilized  land 
but  may  read  the  Whitmanesque  message 
in  time,  if  once  it  is  put  on  the  films  with  power. 
Photoplay  theatres  are  set  up  in  ports  where 
sailors  revel,  in  heathen  towns  where  gentlemen 
adventurers  are  willing  to  make  one  last  throw 
with  fate. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  a  recorder  Whitman 
approaches  the  wildest,  rawest  American  mate- 
rial and  conquers  it,  at  the  same  time  keeping 
his  nerves  in  the  state  in  which  Swinburne 
wrote  Only  the  Song  of  Secret  Bird,  or 
Lanier  composed  The  Ballad  of  Trees  and 
The  Master.  J.  W.  Alexander's  portrait  of 
Whitman  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  New 
York,  is  not  too  sophisticated.  The  out-of- 
door  profoundness  of  this  poet  is  far  richer 
than  one  will  realize  unless  he  has  just 
returned  from  some  cross-country  adventure 
afoot.  Then  if  one  reads  breathlessly  by  the 
page  and  the  score  of  pages,  there  is  a  glory 


PATRIOTIC  SPLENDOR  67 

transcendent.  For  films  of  American  pa- 
triotism to  parallel  the  splendors  of  Cabiria 
and  Judith  of  Bethulia,  and  to  excel  them,  let 
us  have  Whitmanesque  scenarios  based  on 
moods  like  that  of  By  Blue  Ontario's  Shore, 
The  Salute  au  Monde,  and  the  Passage  to 
India.  Then  the  people's  message  will  reach 
the  people  at  last. 

The  average  Crowd  Picture  will  cling  close 
to  the  streets  that  are,  and  the  usual  Patriotic 
Picture  will  but  remind  us  of  nationality  as  it 
is  at  present  conceived  and  aflame,  and  the 
Religious  Picture  will  for  the  most  part 
be  close  to  the  standard  orthodoxies.  The 
final  forms  of  these  merge  into  each  other, 
though  they  approach  the  heights  by  different 
avenues.  We  Americans  should  look  for  the 
great  photoplay  of  tomorrow,  that  will  mark 
a  decade  or  a  century,  that  prophesies  of  the 
flags  made  one,  the  crowds  in  brotherhood. 


CHAPTER  VII 

RELIGIOUS   SPLENDOR 

As  far  as  the  photoplay  is  concerned,  religious 
emotion  is  a  form  of  crowd-emotion.  In  the 
most  conventional  and  rigid  church  sense  this 
phase  can  be  conveyed  more  adequately  by 
the  motion  picture  than  by  the  stage.  There 
is  little,  of  course,  for  the  anti-ritualist  in  the 
art-world  anywhere.  The  thing  that  makes 
cathedrals  real  shrines  in  the  eye  of  the  reverent 
traveller  makes  them,  with  their  religious  pro- 
cessions and  the  like,  impressive  in  splendor- 
films. 

For  instance,  I  have  long  remembered  the 
essentials  of  the  film.  The  Death  of  Thomas 
Becket.  It  may  not  compare  in  technique  to 
some  of  our  present  moving  picture  achieve- 
ments, but  the  idea  must  have  been  particularly 
adapted  to  the  film  medium.  The  story  has 
stayed  in  my  mind  with  great  persistence,  not 
only  as  a  narrative,  but  as  the  first  hint  to  me 
that  orthodox  religious  feeling  has  here  an  un- 
developed field. 

68 


RELIGIOUS  SPLENDOR  69 

Greene  tells  the  story  in  this  way,  in  his 
History  of  the  English  People :  — 

"Four  knights  of  the  King's  court,  stirred 
to  outrage  by  a  passionate  outburst  of  their 
master's  wrath,  crossed  the  sea  and  on  the 
twenty-ninth  of  December  forced  their  way  into 
the  Archbishop's  palace.  After  a  stormy  par- 
ley with  him  in  his  chamber  they  withdrew  to 
arm.  Thomas  was  hurried  by  his  clerks  into 
the  cathedral,  but  as  he  reached  the  steps 
leading  from  the  transept  into  the  choir  his 
pursuers  burst  in  from  the  cloisters.  'Where,' 
cried  Reginald  Fitzurse,  'is  the  traitor, 
Thomas  Becket?'  *Here  am  I,  no  traitor, 
but  a  priest  of  God,'  he  replied.  And  again 
descending  the  steps  he  placed  himself  with 
his  back  against  a  pillar  and  fronted  his  foes.  .  .  . 
The  brutal  murder  was  received  with  a  thrill 
of  horror  throughout  Christendom.  Miracles 
were  wrought  at  the  martyr's  tomb, 
etc.  .  .  ." 

It  is  one  of  the  few  deaths  in  moving  pictures 
that  have  given  me  the  sense  that  I  was  watch- 
ing a  tragedy.  Most  of  them  affect  one,  if 
they  have  any  effect,  like  exhibits  in  an  art 
gallery,  as  does  Joseph  Israels'  oil  painting, 
Alone  in  the  World.     We  admire  the  tech- 


70      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE^ 

nique,  and  as  for  emotion,  we  feel  the  pictur- 
esqueness  only.  But  here  the  church  procession, 
the  robes,  the  candles,  the  vaulting  overhead, 
the  whole  visualized  cathedral  mood  has  the 
power  over  the  reverent  eye  it  has  in  life,  and 
a  touch  more. 

It  is  not  a  private  citizen  who  is  struck  down. 
Such  a  taking  off  would  have  been  but  nomi- 
nally impressive,  no  matter  how  well  acted. 
Private  deaths  in  the  films,  to  put  it  another 
way,  are  but  narrative  statements.  It  is  not 
easy  to  convey  their  spiritual  significance. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  death  of  John  Goderic, 
in  the  film  version  of  Gilbert  Parker's  The 
Seats  of  the  Mighty.  The  major  leaves  this 
world  in  the  first  third  of  the  story.  The  photo- 
play use  of  his  death  is,  that  he  may  whisper  in 
the  ear  of  Robert  Moray  to  keep  certain  letters 
of  La  Pompadour  well  hidden.  The  fact  that 
it  is  the  desire  of  a  dying  man  gives  sharp- 
ness to  his  request.  Later  in  the  story  Moray 
is  hard-pressed  by  the  villain  for  those  same 
papers.  Then  the  scene  of  the  death  is  flashed 
for  an  instant  on  the  screen,  representing  the 
hero's  memory  of  the  event.  It  is  as  though 
he  should  recollect  and  renew  a  solemn  oath. 
The  docimients  are  more  important  than  John 


RELIGIOUS  SPLENDOR  71 

Goderic.  His  departure  is  but  one  of  their 
attributes.  So  it  is  in  any  film.  There  is  no 
emotional  stimulation,  in  the  final  departure  of 
a  non-public  character  to  bring  tears,  such  tears 
as  have  been  provoked  by  the  novel  or  the  stage 
over  the  death  of  Sidney  Carton  or  Faust's 
Marguerite  or  the  like. 

All  this,  to  make  sharper  the  fact  that  the 
murder  of  Becket  the  archbishop  is  a  climax. 
The  great  Church  and  hierarchy  are  profaned. 
The  audience  feels  the  same  thrill  of  horror  that 
went  through  Christendom.  We  understand 
why  miracles  were  wrought  at  the  martyr's  tomb. 

In  the  motion  pictures  the  entrance  of  a  child 
into  the  world  is  a  mere  family  episode,  not  a 
climax,  when  it  is  the  history  of  private  people. 
For  instance,  several  little  strangers  come  into 
the  story  of  Enoch  Arden.  They  add  beauty, 
and  are  links  in  the  chain  of  events.  Still 
they  are  only  one  of  many  elements  of  idyllic 
charm  in  the  village  of  Annie.  Something 
that  in  real  life  is  less  valuable  than  a  child  is 
the  goal  of  each  tiny  tableau,  some  coming 
or  departure  or  the  like  that  affects  the  total 
plot.  But  let  us  imagine  a  production  that 
would  chronicle  the  promise  to  Abraham,  and 
the  vision  that  came  with  it.     Let  the  film 


72     THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

show  the  final  gift  of  Isaac  to  the  aged  Sarah, 
even  the  boy  who  is  the  beginning  of  a  race  that 
shall  be  as  the  stars  of  heaven  and  the  sands 
of  the  sea  for  multitude.  This  could  be  made 
a  pageant  of  power  and  glory.  The  crowd- 
emotions,  patriotic  fires,  and  religious  exulta- 
tions on  which  it  turns  could  be  given  in  noble 
procession  and  the  tiny  fellow  on  the  pillow 
made  the  mystic  centre  of  the  whole.  The 
story  of  the  coming  of  Samuel,  the  dedicated 
little  prophet,  might  be  told  on  similar  terms. 

The  real  death  in  the  photoplay  is  the  rit- 
ualistic death,  the  real  birth  is  the  ritualistic 
birth,  and  the  cathedral  mood  of  the  motion 
picture  which  goes  with  these  and  is  close  to 
these  in  many  of  its  phases,  is  an  inexhaustible 
resource. 

The  film  corporations  fear  religious  questions, 
lest  offence  be  given  to  this  sect  or  that.  So 
let  such  denominations  as  are  in  the  habit  of 
cooperating,  themselves  take  over  this  medium, 
not  gingerly,  but  whole-heartedly,  as  in  medi- 
aeval time  the  hierarchy  strengthened  its  hold 
on  the  people  with  the  marvels  of  Romanesque 
and  Gothic  architecture.  This  matter  is  fur- 
ther discussed  in  the  seventeenth  chapter,  en- 
titled "Progress  and  Endowment." 


RELIGIOUS  SPLENDOR  73 

But  there  is  a  field  wherein  the  commercial 
man  will  not  be  accused  of  heresy  or  sacrilege, 
which  builds  on  ritualistic  birth  and  death  and 
elements  akin  thereto.  This  the  established 
producer  may  enter  without  fear.  Which 
brings  us  to  The  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic, 
issued  by  the  American  Vitagraph  Company  in 
1911.  This  film  should  be  studied  in  the  High 
Schools  and  Universities  till  the  canons  of  art 
for  which  it  stands  are  established  in  America. 
The  director  was  Larry  Trimble.  All  honor 
to  him. 

The  patriotism  of  The  Battle  Hymn  of  the 
Republic,  if  taken  literally,  deals  with  certain 
aspects  of  the  Civil  War.  But  the  picture  is 
transfigured  by  so  marked  a  devotion,  that  it  is 
the  main  illustration  in  this  work  of  the  reli- 
gious photoplay. 

The  beginning  shows  President  Lincoln  in 
the  White  House  brooding  over  the  lack  of 
response  to  his  last  call  for  troops.  (He  is 
impersonated  by  Ralph  Ince.)  He  and  Julia 
Ward  Howe  are  looking  out  of  the  window  on  a 
recruiting  headquarters  that  is  not  busy.  (Mrs. 
Howe  is  impersonated  by  Julia  S.  Gordon.) 
Another  scene  shows  an  old  mother  in  the  West 
refusing  to  let  her  son  enlist.     (This  woman 


74      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

is  impersonated  by  Mrs.  Maurice.)  The  father 
has  died  in  the  war.  The  sword  hangs  on  the 
wall.  Later  Julia  Ward  Howe  is  shown  in  her 
room  asleep  at  midnight,  then  rising  in  a  trance 
and  writing  the  Battle  Hymn  at  a  table  by  the 
bed. 

The  pictures  that  might  possibly  have  passed 
before  her  mind  during  the  trance  are  thrown 
upon  the  screen.  The  phrases  they  illustrate 
are  not  in  the  final  order  of  the  poem,  but  in 
the  possible  sequence  in  which  they  went  on 
the  paper  in  the  first  sketch.  The  dream 
panorama  is  not  a  literal  discussion  of  aboli- 
tionism or  states'  rights.  It  illustrates  rather 
the  Hebraic  exultation  applied  to  all  lands  and 
times.  "Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the 
coming  of  the  Lord "  ;  a  gracious  picture  of  the 
nativity.  (Edith  Storey  impersonates  Mary  the 
Virgin.)  "I  have  seen  him  in  the  watchfires 
of  a  hundred  circling  camps"  and  "They  have 
builded  him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and 
damps"  —  for  these  are  given  symbolic  pageants 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  crusaders. 

Then  there  is  a  visible  parable,  showing  a 
marketplace  in  some  wicked  capital,  neither 
Babylon,  Tyre,  nor  Nineveh,  but  all  of  them 
in  essential  character.     First  come  spectacles 


RELIGIOUS  SPLENDOR  75 

of  rejoicing,  cruelty,  and  waste.  Then  from 
Heaven  descend  flood  and  fire,  brimstone  and 
lightning.  It  is  like  the  judgment  of  the 
Cities  of  the  Plain.  Just  before  the  overthrow, 
the  line  is  projected  upon  the  screen  :  "He  hath 
loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  his  terrible  swift 
sword."  Then  the  heavenly  host  becomes  grad- 
ually visible  upon  the  air,  marching  toward  the 
audience,  almost  crossing  the  footlights,  and 
blowing  their  solemn  trumpets.  With  this 
picture  the  line  is  given  us  to  read :  "Our  God 
is  marching  on."  This  host  appears  in  the 
photoplay  as  often  as  the  refrain  sweeps  into 
the  poem.  The  celestial  company,  its  imper- 
ceptible emergence,  its  spiritual  power  when  in 
the  ascendant,  is  a  thing  never  to  be  forgotten, 
a  tableau  that  proves  the  motion  picture  a 
great  religious  instrument. 

Then  comes  a  procession  indeed.  It  is  as 
though  the  audience  were  standing  at  the  side 
of  the  throne  at  Doomsday  looking  down  the 
hill  of  Zion  toward  the  little  earth.  There  is  a 
line  of  those  who  are  to  be  judged,  leaders 
from  the  beginning  of  history,  barbarians  with 
their  crude  weapons,  classic  characters,  Csesar 
and  his  rivals  for  fame;  mediaeval  figures  in- 
cluding Dante  meditating ;  later  figures,  Riche- 


76      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

lieu,  Napoleon.  Many  people  march  toward 
the  strange  glorifying  eye  of  the  camera,  growing 
larger  than  men,  filling  the  entire  field  of  vision, 
disappearing  when  they  are  almost  upon  us. 
The  audience  weighs  the  worth  of  their  work  to 
the  world  as  the  men  themselves  with  down- 
cast eyes  seem  to  be  doing  also.  The  most 
thrilling  figure  is  Tolstoi  in  his  peasant  smock, 
coming  after  the  bitter  egotists  and  conquerors. 
(The  impersonation  is  by  Edward  Thomas.)  I 
shall  never  forget  that  presence  marching  up 
to  the  throne  invisible  with  bowed  head.  This 
procession  is  to  illustrate  the  line:  "He  is 
sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  his  Judg- 
ment Seat."  Later  Lincoln  is  pictured  on  the 
steps  of  the  White  House.  It  is  a  quaint 
tableau,  in  the  spirit  of  the  old-fashioned 
Roger's  group.  Yet  it  is  masterful  for  all  that. 
Lincoln  is  taking  the  chains  from  a  cowering 
slave.  This  tableau  is  to  illustrate  the  line: 
"Let  the  hero  born  of  woman  crush  the  ser- 
pent with  his  heel."  Now  it  is  the  end  of  the 
series  of  visions.  It  is  morning  in  Mrs.  Howe's 
room.  She  rises.  She  is  filled  with  wonder  to 
find  the  poem  on  her  table. 

Written  to  the  rousing  glory-tune  of  John 
Brown's  Body  the  song  goes  over  the  North 


RELIGIOUS  SPLENDOR  77 

like  wildfire.  The  far-off  home  of  the  widow 
is  shown.  She  and  the  boy  read  the  famous 
chant  in  the  morning  news  column.  She  takes 
the  old  sword  from  the  wall.  She  gives  it  to 
her  son  and  sends  him  to  enlist  with  her  bless- 
ing. In  the  next  picture  Lincoln  and  Mrs.  Howe 
are  looking  out  of  the  window  where  was  once 
the  idle  recruiting  tent.  A  new  army  is  pour- 
ing by,  singing  the  words  that  have  rallied  the 
nation.  Ritualistic  birth  and  death  have  been 
discussed.  This  film  might  be  said  to  illustrate 
ritualistic  birth,  death,  and  resurrection. 

The  writer  has  seen  hundreds  of  productions 
since  this  one.  He  has  described  it  from 
memory.  It  came  out  in  a  time  when  the 
American  people  paid  no  attention  to  the  pro- 
ducer or  the  cast.  It  may  have  many  technical 
crudities  by  present-day  standards.  But  the 
root  of  the  matter  is  there.  And  Springfield 
knew  it.  It  was  brought  back  to  our  town 
many  times.  It  was  popular  in  both  the  fash- 
ionable picture  show  houses  and  the  cheapest, 
dirtiest  hole  in  the  town.  It  will  soon  be  re- 
issued by  the  Vitagraph  Company.  Every 
student  of  American  Art  should  see  this  film. 

The  same  exultation  that  went  into  it,  the 
faculty  for  commanding  the  great  spirits  of 


78      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

history  and  making  visible  the  unseen  powers 
of  the  air,  should  be  applied  to  Crowd  Pictures 
which  interpret  the  non-sectarian  prayers  of  the 
broad  human  race. 

The  pageant  of  Religious  Splendor  is  the  final 
photoplay  form  in  the  classification  which  this 
work  seeks  to  establish.  Much  of  what  follows 
will  be  to  reenforce  the  heads  of  these  first 
discourses.  Further  comment  on  the  Religious 
Photoplay  may  be  found  in  the  eleventh  chap- 
ter, entitled  "  Architecture-in-Motion." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SCULPTURE-IN-MOTION 

The  outline  is  complete.  Now  to  reenforce 
it.  Pictures  of  Action  Intimacy  and  Splendor 
are  the  foundation  colors  in  the  photoplay,  as 
red,  blue,  and  yellow  are  the  basis  of  the  rainbow. 
Action  Films  might  be  called  the  red  section; 
Intimate  Motion  Pictures,  being  colder  and 
quieter,  might  be  called  blue;  and  Splendor 
Photoplays  called  yellow,  since  that  is  the  hue 
of  pageants  and  sunshine. 

Another  way  of  showing  the  distinction  is 
to  review  the  types  of  gesture.  The  Action 
Photoplay  deals  with  generalized  pantomime : 
the  gesture  of  the  conventional  policeman  in 
contrast  with  the  mannerism  of  the  stereo- 
typed preacher.  The  Intimate  Film  gives  us 
more  elusive  personal  gestures :  the  difference 
between  the  table  manners  of  two  preachers  in 
the  same  restaurant,  or  two  policemen.  A  mark 
of  the  Fairy  Play  is  the  gesture  of  incantation, 
the   sweep   of   the   arm  whereby  Mab    would 

79 


80      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

transform  a  prince  into  a  hawk.  The  other 
Splendor  Films  deal  with  the  total  gestures  of 
crowds :  the  pantomime  of  a  torch- waving 
mass  of  men,  the  drill  of  an  army  on  the  march, 
or  the  bending  of  the  heads  of  a  congregation 
receiving  the  benediction. 

Another  way  to  demonstrate  the  thesis  is  to 
use  the  old  classification  of  poetry :  dramatic, 
lyric,  epic.  The  Action  Play  is  a  narrow  form 
of  the  dramatic.  The  Intimate  Motion  Pic- 
ture is  an  equivalent  of  the  lyric.  In  the 
seventeenth  chapter  it  is  shown  that  one  type 
of  the  Intimate  might  be  classed  as  imagist. 
And  obviously  the  Splendor  Pictures  are  the 
equivalent  of  the  epic. 

But  perhaps  the  most  adequate  way  of  show- 
ing the  meaning  of  this  outline  is  to  say  that 
the  Action  Film  is  sculpture-in-motion,  the  In- 
timate Photoplay  is  painting-in-motion,  and  the 
Fairy  Pageant,  along  with  the  rest  of  the  Splen- 
dor Pictures,  may  be  described  as  architecture- 
in-motion.  This  chapter  will  discuss  the  bear- 
ing of  the  phrase  sculpture-in-motion.  It  will 
relate  directly  to  chapter  two. 
^^^  First,  gentle  and  kindly  reader,  let  us  dis- 
cuss sculpture  in  its  most  literal  sense;  after 
that,  less  realistically,  but  perhaps  more  ade- 


SCULPTURE-IN-MOTION  81 

quately.  Let  us  begin  with  Annette  Keller- 
man  in  Neptune's  Daughter.  This  film  has 
a  crude  plot  constructed  to  show  off  Annette's 
various  athletic  resources.  It  is  good  photog- 
raphy, and  a  big  idea  so  far  as  the  swimming 
episodes  are  concerned.  An  artist  haunted 
by  picture-conceptions  equivalent  to  the 
musical  thoughts  back  of  Wagner's  Rhine- 
maidens  could  have  made  of  Annette,  in  her 
mermaid's  dress,  a  notable  figure.  Or  a  story 
akin  to  the  mermaid  tale  of  Hans  Christian 
Andersen,  or  Matthew  Arnold's  poem  of  the 
forsaken  merman,  could  have  made  this  pic- 
turesque witch  of  the  salt  water  truly  significant, 
and  still  retained  the  most  beautiful  parts  of 
the  photoplay  as  it  was  exhibited.  It  is  an 
exceedingly  irrelevant  imagination  that  shows 
her  in  other  scenes  as  a  duellist,  for  instance, 
because  forsooth  she  can  fence.  As  a  child  of 
the  ocean,  half  fish,  half  woman,  she  is  indeed 
convincing.  Such  mermaids  as  this  have 
haunted  sailors,  and  lured  them  on  the  rocks 
to  their  doom,  from  the  day  the  siren  sang 
till  the  hour  the  Lorelei  sang  no  more.  The 
scene  with  the  baby  mermaid,  when  she  swims 
with  the  pretty  creature  on  her  back,  i^  irre- 
sistible.   Why  are  our  managers  so  mechanical  ? 


82      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Why  do  they  flatten  out  at  the  moment  the 
fancy  of  the  tiniest  reader  of  fairy-tales  begins 
to  be  alive  ?  Most  of  Annette's  support  were 
stage  dummies.  Neptune  was  a  lame  Santa 
Claus  with  cotton  whiskers. 

But  as  for  the  bearing  of  the  film  on  this 
chapter :  the  human  figure  is  within  its  rights 
whenever  it  is  as  free  from  self -consciousness  as 
was  the  life-radiating  Annette  in  the  heavenly 
clear  waters  of  Bermuda.  On  the  other  hand, 
Neptune  and  his  pasteboard  diadem  and 
wooden-pointed  pitckfork,  should  have  put  on 
his  dressing-gown  and  retired.  As  a  toe  dancer 
in  an  alleged  court  scene,  on  land,  Annette 
was  a  mere  simperer.  Possibly  Pavlowa  as  a 
swimmer  in  Bermuda  waters  would  have  been 
as  much  of  a  mistake.  Each  queen  to  her 
kingdom. 

For  living,  moving,  sculpture,  the  human  eye 
requires  a  costume  and  a  part  in  unity  with 
the  meaning  of  that  particular  figure.  There 
is  the  Greek  dress  of  Mordkin  in  the  arrow 
dance.  There  is  Annette's  breast  covering  of 
shells,  and  wonderful  flowing  mermaid  hair, 
clothing  her  as  the  midnight  does  the  moon. 
The  new  costume  freedom  of  the  photoplay 
allows  such  limitation  of  clothing  as  would  be 


SCULPTURE-IN-MOTION  83 

probable  when  one  is  honestly  in  touch  with 
wild  nature  and  preoccupied  with  vigorous 
exercise.  Thus  the  cave-man  and  desert  island 
narratives,  though  seldom  well  done,  when  pro- 
duced with  verisimilitude,  give  an  opportunity 
for  the  native  human  frame  in  the  logical 
wrappings  of  reeds  and  skins.  But  those  who 
in  a  silly  hurry  seek  excuses,  are  generally 
merely  ridiculous,  like  the  barefoot  man  who 
is  terribly  tender  about  walking  on  the  pebbles, 
or  the  wild  man  who  is  white  as  celery  or 
grass  under  a  board.  There  is  no  short  cut 
to  vitality. 

A  successful  literal  use  of  sculpture  is  in  the 
film  Oil  and  Water.  Blanche  Sweet  is  the 
leader  of  the  play  within  a  play  which  occu- 
pies the  first  reel.  Here  the  Olympians  and 
the  Muses,  with  a  grace  that  we  fancy  was 
Greek,  lead  a  dance  that  traces  the  story 
of  the  spring,  summer,  and  autumn  of  life. 
Finally  the  supple  dancers  turn  gray  and  old 
and  die,  but  not  before  they  have  given  us  a 
vision  from  the  Ionian  islands.  The  play 
might  have  been  inspired  from  reading  Keats' 
Lamia,  but  is  probably  derived  from  the  work 
of  Isadora  Duncan.  This  chapter  has  here- 
after only  a  passing  word  or   two  on   literal 


84      THE  ART  OF  THE  MO^^NG  PICTURE 

sculptural  effects.  It  has  more  in  mind  the 
carver's  attitude  toward  all  that  passes  before 
the  eye. 

The  sculptor  George  Gray  Barnard  is  re- 
sponsible for  none  of  the  views  in  this  dis- 
course, but  he  has  talked  to  me  at  length  about 
his  sense  of  discovery  in  watching  the  most 
ordinary  motion  pictures,  and  his  delight  in 
following  them  with  their  endless  combinations 
of  masses  and  flowing  surfaces. 

The  little  far-away  people  on  the  old- 
fashioned  speaking  stage,  do  not  appeal  to  the 
plastic  sense  in  this  way.  They  are,  by  com- 
parison, mere  bits  of  pasteboard  with  sweet 
voices,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  photoplay 
foreground  is  full  of  dumb  giants.  The  bodies 
of  these  giants  are  in  high  sculptural  relief. 
Where  the  lights  are  quite  glaring  and  the 
photography  is  bad,  many  of  the  figures  are 
as  hard  in  their  impact  on  the  eye  as  lime- 
white  plaster-casts,  no  matter  what  the  cloth- 
ing. There  are  several  passages  of  this  sort 
in  the  otherwise  beautiful  Enoch  Arden,  where 
the  shipwrecked  sailor  is  depicted  on  his 
desert  island  in  the  glaring  sun. 

What  materials  should  the  photoplay  figures 
suggest  ?    There  are  as  many  possible  materials 


SCULPTURE-IN-MOTION  85 

as  there  are  subjects  for  pictures  and  tone 
schemes  to  be  considered.  But  we  will  take 
for  illustration  wood,  bronze,  and  marble,  since 
they  have  been  used  in  the  old  sculptural 
art. 

There  is  found  in  most  art  shows  a  type  of 
carved  wood  gargoyle  where  the  work  and  the 
subject  are  at  one,  not  only  in  the  color  of 
the  wood,  but  in  the  way  the  material  masses 
itself,  in  bulk  betrays  its  qualities.  We  will 
suppose  a  moving  picture  humorist  who  is 
in  the  same  mood  as  the  carver.  He  chooses 
a  story  of  quaint  old  ladies,  street  gamins,  and 
fat  aldermen.  Imagine  the  figures  with  the 
same  massing  and  interplay  suddenly  invested 
with  life,  yet  giving  to  the  eye  a  pleasure  kindred 
to  that  which  is  found  in  carved  wood,  and 
bringing  to  the  fancy  a  similar  humor. 

Or  there  is  a  type  of  Action  Story  where  the 
mood  of  the  figures  is  that  of  bronze,  with  the 
aesthetic  resources  of  that  metal :  its  elasticity ; 
its  emphasis  on  the  tendon,  ligament,  and  bone, 
rather  than  on  the  muscle;  and  an  attribute 
that  we  will  call  the  panther-like  quality.  Her- 
mon  A.  MacNeil  has  a  memorable  piece  of  work 
in  the  yard  of  the  architect  Shaw,  at  Lake 
Forest,  Illinois.     It  is  called  "The  Sun  Vow." 


86      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

A  little  Indian  is  shooting  toward  the  sun,  while 
the  old  warrior,  crouching  immediately  behind 
him,  follows  with  his  eye  the  direction  of  the 
arrow.  Few  pieces  of  sculpture  come  readily 
to  mind  that  show  more  happily  the  qualities 
of  bronze  as  distinguished  from  other  materials. 
To  imagine  such  a  group  done  in  marble,  carved 
wood,  or  Delia  Robbia  ware  is  to  destroy  the 
very  image  in  the  fancy. 

The  photoplay  of  the  American  Indian  should 
in  most  instances,  be  planned  as  bronze  in  action. 
The  tribes  should  not  move  so  rapidly  that 
the  panther-like  elasticity  is  lost  in  the  riding, 
running,  and  scalping.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
aborigines  should  be  far  from  the  temperateness 
of  marble. 

Mr.  Edward  S.  Curtis,  the  super-photographer, 
has  made  an  Ethnological  collection  of  photo- 
graphs of  our  American  Indians.  This  work 
of  a  life-time,  a  supreme  art  achievement,  shows 
the  native  as  a  figure  in  bronze.  Mr.  Curtis' 
photoplay.  The  Land  of  the  Head  Hunters 
(World  Film  Corporation),  a  romance  of  the 
Indians  of  the  North- West,  abounds  in  noble 
bronzes. 

I  have  gone  through  my  old  territories  as  an 
Art  student,  in  the  Chicago  xArt  Institute  and 


SCULPTUEE-IN-MOTION  87 

the  Metropolitan  Museum,  of  late,  in  special 
excursions,  looking  for  sculpture,  painting,  and 
architecture  that  might  be  the  basis  for  the 
photoplays  of  the  future. 

The  Bacchante  of  Frederick  MacMonnies  is 
in  bronze  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  and  in 
bronze  replica  in  the  Boston  Museum  of  Fine 
Arts.  There  is  probably  no  work  that  more 
rejoices  the  hearts  of  the  young  art  students  in 
either  city.  The  youthful  creature  illustrates 
a  most  joyous  leap  into  the  air.  She  is  high  on 
one  foot  with  the  other  knee  lifted.  She  holds 
a  bunch  of  grapes  full-arm's  length.  Her  baby, 
clutched  in  the  other  hand,  is  reaching  up  with 
greedy  mouth  toward  the  fruit.  The  bacchante 
body  is  glistening  in  the  light.  This  is  joy-in- 
bronze  as  the  Sun  Vow  is  power-in-bronze. 
This  special  story  could  not  be  told  in  another 
medium.  I  have  seen  in  Paris  a  marble  copy 
of  this  bacchante.  It  is  as  though  it  were 
done  in  soap.  On  the  other  hand,  many  of  the 
renaissance  Italian  sculptors  have  given  us 
children  in  marble  in  low  relief,  dancing  like 
lilies  in  the  wind.  They  could  not  be  put  into 
bronze. 

The  plot  of  the  Action  Photoplay  is  literally 
or  metaphorically  a  chase  down  the  road  or  a 


88      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

hurdle-race.  It  might  be  well  to  consider  how 
typical  figures  for  such  have  been  put  into  carved 
material.  There  are  two  bronze  statues  that 
have  their  replicas  in  all  museums.  They  are 
generally  one  on  either  side  of  the  main  hall, 
towering  above  the  second-story  balustrade. 
First,  the  statue  of  Gattamelata,  a  Venetian 
general,  by  Donatello.  The  original  is  in 
Padua.  Then  there  is  the  figure  of  Bartol- 
ommeo  CoUeoni.  The  original  is  in  Venice. 
It  is  by  Verrocchio  and  Leopardi.  These 
equestrians  radiate  authority.  There  is  more 
action  in  them  than  in  any  cowboy  hordes  I 
have  ever  beheld  zipping  across  the  screen. 
Look  upon  them  and  ponder  long,  prospective 
author-producer.  Even  in  a  simple  chase-pic- 
ture, the  speed  must  not  destroy  the  chance  to 
enjoy  the  modelling.  If  you  would  give  us 
mounted  legions,  destined  to  conquer,  let  any 
one  section  of  the  film,  if  it  is  stopped  and 
studied,  be  grounded  in  the  same  bronze  con- 
ception. The  Assyrian  commanders  in  Grif- 
fith's Judith  would,  without  great  embarrass- 
ment, stand  this  test. 

But  it  may  not  be  the  pursuit  of  an  enemy 
we  have  in  mind.  It  may  be  a  spring  celebra- 
tion,   horsemen    in    Arcadia,    going    to    some 


SCULPTURE-IN-MOTION  89 

happy  tournament.  Where  will  we  find  our 
precedents  for  such  a  cavalcade?  Go  to  any 
museum.  Find  the  Parthenon  room.  High 
on  the  wall  is  the  copy  of  the  famous  marble 
frieze  of  the  young  citizens  who  are  in  the  pro- 
cession in  praise  of  Athena.  Such  a  rhythm 
of  bodies  and  heads  and  the  feet  of  proud  steeds, 
and  above  all  the  profiles  of  thoroughbred 
youths,  no  city  has  seen  since  that  day.  The 
delicate  composition  relations,  ever  varying, 
ever  refreshing,  amid  the  seeming  sameness  of 
formula  of  rider  behind  rider,  have  been  the 
delight  of  art  students  the  world  over,  and  shall 
so  remain.  No  serious  observer  escapes  the 
exhilaration  of  this  company.  Let  it  be  studied 
by  the  author-producer  though  it  be  but  an 
idyl  in  disguise  that  his  scenario  calls  for: 
merry  young  farmers  hurrying  to  the  State 
Fair  parade,  boys  making  all  speed  to  the 
political  rally. 

Buy  any  three  moving  picture  magazines 
you  please.  Mark  the  illustrations  that  are 
massive,  in  high  relief,  with  long  lines  in  their 
edges.  Cut  out  and  sort  some  of  these.  I 
have  done  it  on  the  table  where  I  write.  After 
throwing  away  all  but  the  best  specimens,  I 
have  four  different  kinds  of  sculpture.     First, 


90      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

behold  the  inevitable  cowboy.  He  is  on  a 
ramping  horse,  filling  the  entire  outlook.  The 
steed  rears,  while  facing  us.  The  cowboy  waves 
his  hat.  There  is  quite  such  an  animal  by 
Frederick  MacMonnies,  wrought  in  bronze, 
set  up  on  a  gate  to  a  park  in  Brooklyn.  It  is 
not  the  identical  color  of  the  photoplay  ani- 
mal, but  the  bronze  elasticity  is  the  joy  in 
both. 

Here  is  a  scene  of  a  masked  monk,  carrying 
off  a  fainting  girl.  The  hero  intercepts  him. 
The  figures  of  the  lady  and  the  monk  are  in 
suflScient  sculptural  harmony  to  make  a  formal 
sculptural  group  for  an  art  exhibition.  The 
picture  of  the  hero,  strong,  with  well-massed 
surfaces,  is  related  to  both.  The  fact  that  he 
is  in  evening  dress  does  not  alter  his  monu- 
mental quality.  All  three  are  on  a  stone  bal- 
cony that  relates  itself  to  the  general  largeness 
of  spirit  in  the  group,  and  the  semi-classic  dress 
of  the  maiden.  No  doubt  the  title  is :  The 
Morning  Following  the  Masquerade  Ball.  This 
group  could  be  made  in  unglazed  clay,  in  four 
colors. 

Here  is  an  American  lieutenant  with  two 
ladies.  The  three  are  suddenly  alert  over  the 
approach  of  the  villain,  who  is  not  yet  in  the 


SCULPTURE-IN-MOTION  91 

picture.  In  costume  it  is  an  everyday  group, 
but  those  three  figures  are  related  to  one  an- 
other, and  the  trees  behind  them,  in  simple 
sculptural  terms.  The  lieutenant,  as  is  to  be 
expected,  looks  forth  in  fierce  readiness.  One 
girl  stands  with  clasped  hands.  The  other 
points  to  the  danger.  The  relations  of  these 
people  to  one  another  may  seem  merely  dramatic 
to  the  superficial  observer,  but  the  power  of  the 
group  is  in  the  fact  that  it  is  monumental.  I 
could  imagine  it  done  in  four  different  kinds 
of  rare  tropical  wood,  carved  unpolished. 

Here  is  a  scene  of  storm  and  stress  in  an  office 
where  the  hero  is  caught  with  seemingly  in- 
criminating papers.  The  table  is  in  confusion. 
The  room  is  filling  with  people,  led  by  one 
accusing  woman.  Is  this  also  sculpture  ?  Yes. 
The  figures  are  in  high  relief.  Even  the  surfaces 
of  the  chairs  and  the  littered  table  are  massive, 
and  the  eye  travels  without  weariness,  as  it 
should  do  in  sculpture,  from  the  hero  to  the  furi- 
ous woman,  then  to  the  attorney  behind  her, 
then  to  the  two  other  revilers,  then  to  the  crowd 
in  three  loose  rhythmic  ranks.  The  eye  makes 
this  journey,  not  from  space  to  space,  or  fabric  to 
fabric,  but  first  of  all  from  mass  to  mass.  It 
is  sculpture,  but  it  is  the  sort  that  can  be  done 


92      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

in  no  medium  but  the  moving  picture  itself, 
and  therefore  it  is  one  goal  of  this  argument. 

But  there  are  several  other  goals.  One  of 
the  sculpturesque  resources  of  the  photoplay 
is  that  the  human  countenance  can  be  magni- 
fied many  times,  till  it  fills  the  entire  screen. 
Some  examples  are  in  rather  low  relief,  portraits 
approximating  certain  painters.  But  if  they 
are  on  sculptural  terms,  and  are  studies  of  the 
faces  of  thinking  men,  let  the  producer  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  Washington  for  his  precedent. 
There,  in  the  rotunda  of  the  capitol,  is  the  face 
of  Lincoln  by  Gutzon  Borglum.  It  is  one  of  the 
eminently  successful  attempts  to  get  at  the  se- 
cret of  the  countenance  by  enlarging  it  much,  and 
concentrating  the  whole  consideration  there. 

The  photoplay  producer,  seemingly  with- 
out taking  thought,  is  apt  to  show  a  sculp- 
tural sense  in  giving  us  Newfoundland  fisher- 
men, clad  in  oilskins.  The  background  may 
have  an  unconscious  Winslow  Homer  remi- 
niscence. In  the  foreground  our  hardy  heroes 
fill  the  screen,  and  dripping  with  sea-water 
become  wave-beaten  granite,  yet  living  creatures 
none  the  less.  Imagine  some  one  chapter  from 
the  story  of  Little  Em'ly  in  David  Copperfield, 
retold  in  the  films.     Show  us  Ham  Peggotty 


SCULPTURE-IN-MOTION 

and  old  Mr.  Peggotty  in  colloquy  over  their 
nets.  There  are  many  powerful  bronze  groups 
to  be  had  from  these  two,  on  to  the  heroic  and 
unselfish  death  of  Ham,  rescuing  his  enemy  in 
storm  and  lightning. 

I  have  seen  one  rich  picture  of  alleged  canni- 
bal tribes.  It  was  a  comedy  about  a  missionary. 
But  the  aborigines  were  like  living  ebony  and 
silver.  That  was  long  ago.  Such  things  come 
too  much  by  accident.  The  producer  is  not 
sufficiently  aware  that  any  artistic  element  in 
his  list  of  productions  that  is  allowed  to  go  wild, 
that  has  not  had  full  analysis,  reanalysis,  and 
final  conservation,  wastes  his  chance  to  attain 
supreme  mastery. 

Open  your  history  of  sculpture,  and  dwell 
upon  those  illustrations  which  are  not  the  nor- 
mal, reposeful  statues,  but  the  exceptional, 
such  as  have  been  listed  for  this  chapter. 
Imagine  that  each  dancing,  galloping,  or  fight- 
ing figure  comes  down  into  the  room  life-size. 
Watch  it  against  a  dark  curtain.  Let  it  go 
through  a  series  of  gestures  in  harmony  with 
the  spirit  of  the  original  conception,  and  as 
rapidly  as  possible,  not  to  lose  nobility.  If 
you  have  the  necessary  elasticity,  imagine 
the  figures  wearing  the  costumes  of  another 


94      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

period,  yet  retaining  in  their  motions  the  same 
essential  spirit.  Combine  them  in  your  mind 
with  one  or  two  kindred  figures,  enlarged  till 
they  fill  the  end  of  the  room.  You  have  now 
created  the  beginning  of  an  Action  Photoplay  in 
your  own  fancy. 

Do  this  with  each  most  energetic  classic  till 
your  imagination  flags.  I  do  not  want  to  be 
too  dogmatic,  but  it  seems  to  me  this  is  one 
way  to  evolve  real  Action  Plays.  It  would, 
perhaps,  be  well  to  substitute  this  for  the  usual 
method  of  evolving  them  from  old  stage  ma- 
terial or  newspaper  clippings. 

There  is  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  a 
noble  modern  group,  the  Mares  of  Diomedes, 
by  the  aforementioned  Gutzon  Borglum.  It 
is  full  of  material  for  the  meditations  of  a  man 
who  wants  to  make  a  film  of  a  stampede. 
The  idea  is  that  Hercules,  riding  his  steed  bare- 
back, guides  it  in  a  circle.  He  is  fascinating  the 
horses  he  has  been  told  to  capture.  They  are 
held  by  the  mesmerism  of  the  circular  path 
and  follow  him  round  and  round  till  they  finally 
fall  from  exhaustion.  Thus  the  Indians  of  the 
West  capture  wild  ponies,  and  Borglum,  a  far 
western  man,  imputes  the  method  to  Hercules. 
The  bronze  group   shows   a   segment   of  this 


SCULPTURE-IN-MOTION  95 

circle.  The  whirlwind  is  at  its  height.  The 
mares  are  wild  to  taste  the  flesh  of  Hercules. 
Whoever  is  to  photograph  horses  let  him 
study  the  play  of  light  and  color  and  muscle- 
texture  in  this  bronze.  And  let  no  group  of 
horses  ever  run  faster  than  these  of  Borglum. 

An  occasional  hint  of  a  Michelangelo  figure 
or  gesture  appears  for  a  flash  in  the  films. 
Young  artist  in  the  audience,  does  it  pass  you 
by  ?  Open  your  history  of  sculpture  again  and 
look  at  the  usual  list  of  Michelangelo  groups. 
Suppose  the  seated  majesty  of  Moses  should 
rise,  what  would  be  the  quality  of  the  action? 
Suppose  the  sleeping  figures  of  the  Medician 
tombs  should  wake,  or  those  famous  slaves 
should  break  their  bands,  or  David  again  hurl 
the  stone  .^  Would  not  their  action  be  as 
heroic  as  their  quietness.'^  Is  it  not  possible 
to  have  a  Michelangelo  of  photoplay  sculp- 
ture.^ Should  we  not  look  for  him  in  the  ful- 
ness of  time.f^  His  figures  might  come  to  us 
in  the  skins  of  the  desert  island  solitary,  or  as 
cave  men  and  women,  or  as  mermaids  and 
mermen,  and  yet  have  a  force  and  grandeur 
akin  to  that  of  the  old  Italian. 

Rodin's  famous  group  of  the  citizens  of  Calais 
is  an  example  of  the  expression  of  one  particu- 


96      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

lar  idea  by  a  special  technical  treatment.  The 
producer  who  tells  a  kindred  story  to  that  of 
the  siege  of  Calais,  and  the  final  going  of  these 
humble  men  to  their  doom,  will  have  a  hero-tale 
indeed.  It  will  be  not  only  sculpture-in-action, 
but  a  great  Crowd  Picture.  It  begins  to  be 
seen  that  the  possibilities  of  monumental 
achievement  in  the  films  transcend  the  narrow 
boundaries  of  the  Action  Photoplay.  Why  not 
conceptions  as  heroic  as  Rodin's  Hand  of  God, 
where  the  first  pair  are  clasped  in  the  gigantic 
fingers  of  their  maker  in  the  clay  from  which 
they  came  ? 

Finally,  I  desire  in  moving  pictures,  not  the 
stillness,  but  the  majesty  of  sculpture.  I  do 
not  advocate  for  the  photoplay  the  mood  of 
the  Venus  of  Milo.  But  let  us  turn  to  that 
sister  of  hers,  the  great  Victory  of  Samothrace, 
that  spreads  her  wings  at  the  head  of  the  steps 
of  the  Louvre,  and  in  many  an  art  gallery  beside. 
When  you  are  appraising  a  new  film,  ask  your- 
self: "Is  this  motion  as  rapid,  as  godlike,  as 
the  sweep  of  the  wings  of  the  Samothracian  ? " 
Let  her  be  the  touchstone  of  the  Action  Drama, 
for  nothing  can  be  more  swift  than  the  winged 
Gods,  nothing  can  be  more  powerful  than  the 
oncoming  of  the  immortals. 


CHAPTER  IX 

PAINTING-IN-MOTION 

This  chapter  is  founded  on  the  delicate  effects 
that  may  be  worked  out  from  cosy  interior 
scenes,  close  to  the  camera.  It  relates  directly 
to  chapter  three. 

While  the  Intimate-and-friendly  Motion  Pic- 
ture may  be  in  high  sculptural  relief,  its  char- 
acteristic manifestations  are  in  low  relief.  The 
situations  show  to  better  advantage  when  they 
seem  to  be  paintings  rather  than  monumental 
groups. 

Turn  to  your  handful  of  motion  picture 
magazines  and  mark  the  illustrations  that  look 
the  most  like  paintings.  Cut  them  out.  Win- 
now them  several  times.  I  have  before  me,  as  a 
final  threshing  from  such  an  experiment,  five 
pictures.  Each  one  approximates  a  different 
school. 

Here  is  a  colonial  Virginia  maiden  by  the 
hearth  of  the  inn.  Bending  over  her  in  a 
cherishing   way   is   the   negro   maid.     On   the 

H  97 


98      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

other  side,  the  innkeeper  shows  a  kindred  solici- 
tude. A  dishevelled  traveller  sleeps  huddled 
up  in  the  corner.  The  costume  of  the  man 
fades  into  the  velvety  shadows  of  the  wall. 
His  face  is  concealed.  His  hair  blends  with 
the  soft  background.  The  clothing  of  the  other 
three  makes  a  patch  of  light  gray.  Added  to 
this  is  the  gayety  of  special  textures :  the 
turban  of  the  negress,  a  trimming  on  the  skirt 
of  the  heroine,  the  silkiness  of  the  innkeeper's 
locks,  the  fabric  of  the  broom  in  the  hearth- 
light,  the  pattern  of  the  mortar  lines  round  the 
bricks  of  the  hearth.  The  tableau  is  a  satisfy- 
ing scheme  in  two  planes  and  many  textures. 
Here  is  another  sort  of  painting.  The  young 
mother  in  her  pretty  bed  is  smiling  on  her 
infant.  The  cot  and  covers  and  flesh  tints 
have  gentle  scales  of  difference,  all  within  one 
tone  of  the  softest  gray.  Her  hair  is  quite 
dark.  It  relates  to  the  less  luminous  black  of 
the  coat  of  the  physician  behind  the  bed  and  the 
dress  of  the  girl-friend  bending  over  her.  The 
nurse  standing  by  the  doctor  is  a  figure  of  the 
same  gray- white  as  the  bed.  Within  the  pat- 
tern of  the  velvety-blacks  there  are  as  many 
subtle  gradations  as  in  the  pattern  of  the 
gray-whites.     The     tableau     is     a     satisfying 


PAINTING-IN-MOTION  99 

scheme  in  black  and  gray,  with  practically  one 
non-obtrusive  texture  throughout. 

Here  is  a  picture  of  an  Englishman  and  his 
wife,  in  India.  It  might  be  called  sculptural, 
but  for  the  magnificence  of  the  turban  of  the 
rajah  who  converses  with  them,  the  glitter  of 
the  light  round  his  shoulders,  and  the  scheme 
of  shadow  out  of  which  the  three  figures  rise. 
The  arrangement  remotely  reminds  one  of 
several  of  Rembrandt's  semi-oriental  musings. 

Here  is  a  picture  of  Mary  Pickford  as  Fan- 
chon  the  Cricket.  She  is  in  the  cottage  with 
the  strange  old  mother.  I  have  seen  a  paint- 
ing in  this  mood  by  the  Greek  Nickolas  Gysis. 

The  Intimate-and-friendly  Moving  Picture, 
the  photoplay  of  painting-in-motion,  need 
not  be  indoors  as  long  as  it  has  the  native- 
heath  mood.  It  is  generally  keyed  to  the 
hearth-stone,  and  keeps  quite  close  to  it.  But 
how  well  I  remember  when  the  first  French 
photoplays  began  to  come.  Though  unintel- 
ligent in  some  respects,  the  photography  and 
subject-matter  of  many  of  them  made  one 
think  of  that  painter  of  gentle  out-of-door 
scenes,  Jean  Charles  Cazin.  Here  is  our  last 
clipping,  which  is  also  in  a  spirit  allied  to  Cazin. 
The  heroine,  accompanied  by  an  aged  shepherd 


100    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

and  his  dog,  are  in  the  foreground.  The  sheep 
are  in  the  middle  distance  on  the  edge  of  the 
river.  There  is  a  noble  hill  beyond  the  gently 
flowing  water.  Here  is  intimacy  and  friend- 
liness in  the  midst  of  the  big  out  of  doors. 

If  these  five  photo-paintings  were  on  good 
paper  enlarged  to  twenty  by  twenty -four  inches, 
they  would  do  to  frame  and  hang  on  the  wall 
of  any  study,  for  a  month  or  so.  And  after  the 
relentless  test  of  time,  I  would  venture  that 
some  one  of  the  five  would  prove  a  permanent 
addition  to  the  household  gods. 

Hastily  made  photographs  selected  from  the 
films  are  often  put  in  front  of  the  better  theatres 
to  advertise  the  show.  Of  late  they  are  making 
them  two  by  three  feet  and  sometimes  several 
times  larger.  Here  is  a  commercial  beginning 
of  an  art  gallery,  but  not  enough  pains  are 
taken  to  give  the  selections  a  complete  art 
gallery  dignity.  Why  not  have  the  most  beau- 
tiful scenes  in  front  of  the  theatres,  instead 
of  those  alleged  to  be  the  most  thrilling  ?  Why 
not  rest  the  fevered  and  wandering  eye,  rather 
than  make  one  more  attempt  to  take  it  by  force  ? 

Let  the  reader  supply  another  side  of  the 
argument  by  looking  at  the  illustrations  in 
any  history  of  painting.     Let  him  select  the 


PAINTING-IN-MOTION  101 

pictures  that  charm  him  most,  and  think  of 
them  enlarged  and  transferred  bodily  to  one 
corner  of  the  room,  as  he  has  thought  of  the 
sculpture.  Let  them  take  on  motion  without 
losing  their  charm  of  low  relief,  or  their  serene 
composition  within  the  four  walls  of  the 
frame.  As  for  the  motion,  let  it  be  a  further 
extension  of  the  drawing.  Let  every  gesture 
be  a  bolder,  but  not  less  graceful  brush-stroke. 

The  Metropolitan  Museum  has  a  Van  Dyke 
that  appeals  equally  to  one's  sense  of  beauty 
and  one's  feeling  for  humor.  It  is  a  portrait 
of  James  Stuart,  Duke  of  Lennox,  and  I  can- 
not see  how  the  author-producer-photographer 
can  look  upon  it  without  having  it  set  his 
imagination  in  a  glow.  Every  small  town 
dancing  set  has  a  James  like  this.  The  man 
and  the  greyhound  are  the  same  witless 
breed,  the  kind  that  achieve  a  result  by  their 
clean-limbed  elegance  alone.  Van  Dyke  has 
painted  the  two  with  what  might  be  called  a 
greyhound  brush-stroke,  a  style  of  handling 
that  is  nothing  but  courtly  convention  and 
strut  to  the  point  of  genius.  He  is  as  far  from 
the  meditative  spirituality  of  Rembrandt  as 
could  well  be  imagined. 

Conjure  up   a  scene  in  the  hereditary  hall 


102    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

after  a  hunt  (or  golf  tournament),  in  which 
a  man  like  this  Duke  of  Lennox  has  a  noble 
parley  with  his  lady  (or  dancing  partner),  she 
being  a  sweet  and  stupid  swan  (or  a  white 
rabbit)  by  the  same  sign  that  he  is  a  noble  and 
stupid  greyhound.  Be  it  an  ancient  or  modern 
episode,  the  story  could  be  told  in  the  tone 
and  with  well-nigh  the  brushwork  of  Van  Dyke. 

Then  there  is  a  picture  my  teachers.  Chase 
and  Henri,  were  never  weary  of  praising,  the 
Girl  with  the  Parrot,  by  Manet.  Here  con- 
tinence in  nervous  force,  expressed  by  low  re- 
lief and  restraint  in  tone,  is  carried  to  its  ulti- 
mate point.  I  should  call  this  an  imagist 
painting,  made  before  there  were  such  people 
as  imagist  poets.  It  is  a  perpetual  sermon  to 
those  that  would  thresh  around  to  no  avail,  be 
they  orators,  melodramatists,  or  makers  of 
photoplays  with  an  alleged  heart-interest. 

Let  us  consider  Gilbert  Stuart's  portrait  of 
Washington.  This  painter's  notion  of  personal 
dignity  has  far  more  of  the  intellectual  quality 
than  Van  Dyke.  He  loves  to  give  us  stately, 
able,  fairly  conscientious  gentry,  rather  than 
overdone  royalty.  His  work  represents  a  cer- 
tain mood  in  design  that  in  architecture  is 
called  colonial.     Such  portraits  go  with  houses 


PAINTING-IN-MOTION  103 

like  Mount  Vernon.  Let  the  photographer 
study  the  flat  blacks  in  the  garments.  Let 
him  note  the  transparent  impression  of  the  laces 
and  flesh-tints  that  seem  to  be  painted  on  glass, 
observing  especially  the  crystalline  whiteness 
of  the  wigs.  Let  him  inspect  also  the  silhouette- 
like outlines,  noting  the  courtly  self-possession 
they  convey.  Then  let  the  photographer,  the 
producer,  and  the  author,  be  they  one  man  or 
six  men,  stick  to  this  type  of  picturization 
through  one  entire  production,  till  any  artist 
in  the  audience  will  say,  "This  photoplay  was 
painted  by  a  pupil  of  Gilbert  Stuart" ;  and  the 
layman  will  say,  "It  looks  like  those  stately 
days."  And  let  us  not  have  battle,  but  a 
Mount  Vernon  fireside  tale. 

Both  the  Chicago  and  New  York  museums 
contain  many  phases  of  one  same  family 
group,  painted  by  George  De  Forest  Brush. 
There  is  a  touch  of  the  hearthstone  priestess 
about  the  woman.  The  force  of  sex  has  turned 
to  the  austere  comforting  passion  of  mother- 
hood. From  the  children,  under  the  wings 
of  this  spirit,  come  special  delicate  powers  of 
life.  There  is  nothing  tense  or  restless  about 
them,  yet  they  embody  action,  the  beating  of 
the  inner  fire,  without  which  all  outer  action  is 


104    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

mockery.  Hearthstone  tales  keyed  to  the 
mood  and  using  the  brush  stroke  that  deHneates 
this  especial  circle  would  be  unmistakable  in 
their  distinction. 

Charles  W.  Hawthorne  has  pictures  in 
Chicago  and  New  York  that  imply  the  Inti- 
mate-and-friendly  Photoplay.  The  Trousseau 
in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  shows  a  gentle 
girl,  an  unfashionable  home-body  with  a 
sweetly  sheltered  air.  Behind  her  glimmers 
the  patient  mother's  face.  The  older  woman 
is  busy  about  fitting  the  dress.  The  picture 
is  a  tribute  to  the  qualities  of  many  unknown 
gentlewomen.  Such  an  illumination  as  this,  on 
faces  so  innocently  eloquent,  is  the  light  that 
should  shine  on  the  countenance  of  the  photo- 
play actress  who  really  desires  greatness  in  the 
field  of  the  Intimate  Motion  Picture.  There 
is  in  Chicago,  Hawthorne's  painting  of  Sylvia : 
a  little  girl  standing  with  her  back  to  a  mirror, 
a  few  blossoms  in  one  hand  and  a  vase  of  flowers 
on  the  mirror  shelf.  It  is  as  sound  a  compo- 
sition as  Hawthorne  ever  produced.  The  paint- 
ing of  the  child  is  another  tribute  to  the 
physical-spiritual  textures  from  which  humanity 
is  made.  Ah,  you  producer  who  have  grown 
squeaky  whipping  your  people  into  what  you 


-*.■- 


PAINTING-IN-MOTION  105 

called  action,  consider  the  dynamics  of  these 
figures  that]  would  be  almost  motionless  in 
real  life.  Remember  there  must  be  a  spirit- 
action  under  the  other,  or  all  is  dead. 

Yet  that  soul  may  be  the  muse  of  Comedy. 
If  Hawthorne  and  his  kind  are  not  your  fashion, 
turn  to  models  that  have  their  feet  on  the 
earth  always,  yet  successfully  aspire.  Key 
some  of  your  intimate  humorous  scenes  to 
the  Dutch  Little  Masters  of  painting,  such 
pictures  as  Gerard  Terburg's  Music  Lesson  in 
the  Chicago  Art  Institute.  The  thing  is  as 
well  designed  as  a  Dutch  house,  wind-mill,  or 
clock.  And  it  is  more  elegant  than  any  of 
these.  There  is  humor  enough  in  the  picture 
to  last  one  reel  through.  The  society  dame 
of  the  period,  in  her  pretty  raiment,  fingers  the 
strings  of  her  musical  instrument,  while  the 
master  stands  by  her  with  the  baton.  The 
painter  has  enjoyed  the  satire,  from  her  elegant 
little  hands  to  the  teacher's  well-combed  locks. 
It  is  very  plain  that  she  does  not  want  to  study 
music  with  any  sincerity,  and  he  does  not 
desire  to  develop  the  ability  of  this  particular 
person.  There  may  be  a  flirtation  in  the  back- 
ground. Yet  these  people  are  not  hollow  as 
gourds,   and   they   are   not   caricatured.     The 


106    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVmG  PICTURE 

Dutch  Little  Masters  have  indulged  in  number- 
less characterizations  of  mundane  humanity. 
But  they  are  never  so  preoccupied  with  the 
story  that  it  is  an  anecdote  rather  than  a 
picture.  It  is,  first  of  all,  a  piece  of  elegant 
painting-fabric.  Next  it  is  a  scrap  of  Dutch 
philosophy  or  aspiration. 

Let  Whistler  turn  over  in  his  grave  while 
we  enlist  him  for  the  cause  of  democracy.  One 
view  of  the  technique  of  this  man  might 
summarize  it  thus :  fastidiousness  in  choice 
of  subject,  the  picture  well  within  the  frame, 
low  relief,  a  Velasquez  study  of  tones  and  a 
Japanese  study  of  spaces.  Let  us,  dear  and 
patient  reader,  particularly  dwell  upon  the 
spacing.  A  Whistler,  or  a  good  Japanese 
print,  might  be  described  as  a  kaleidoscope 
suddenly  arrested  and  transfixed  at  the  moment 
of  most  exquisite  relations  in  the  pieces  of  glass. 
An  Intimate  Play  of  a  kindred  sort  would 
start  to  turning  the  kaleidoscope  again,  losing 
fine  relations  only  to  gain  those  which  are  more 
exquisite  and  novel.  All  motion  pictures  might 
be  characterized  as  sjpace  measured  without 
sound,  plus  time  measured  without  sound. 
This  description  fits  in  a  special  way  the  deli- 
cate form   of   the   Intimate   Motion   Picture, 


PAINTING-IN-MOTION  107 

and  there  can  be  studied  out,  free  from  irrele- 
vant issues. 

As  to  space  measured  without  sound.  Sup- 
pose it  is  a  humorous  characterization  of 
comfortable  family  life,  founded  on  some 
Dutch  Little  Master.  The  picture  measures 
off  its  spaces  in  harmony.  The  triangle  occu- 
pied by  the  little  child's  dress  is  in  definite  re- 
lation to  the  triangle  occupied  by  the  mother's 
costume.  To  these  two  patterns  the  space 
measured  off  by  the  boy's  figure  is  adjusted, 
and  all  of  them  are  as  carefully  related  to  the 
shapes  cut  out  of  the  background  by  the 
figures.  No  matter  how  the  characters  move 
about  in  the  photoplay  these  pattern  shapes 
should  relate  to  one  another  in  a  definite  de- 
sign. The  exact  tone  value  of  each  one  and 
their  precise  nearness  or  distance  to  one  an- 
other has  a  deal  to  do  with  the  final  effect. 

We  go  to  the  photoplay  to  enjoy  right  and 
splendid  picture-motions,  to  feel  a  certain 
thrill  when  the  pieces  of  kaleidoscope  glass  slide 
into  new  places.  Instead  of  moving  on  straight 
lines,  as  they  do  in  the  mechanical  toy,  they 
progress  in  strange  curves  that  are  part  of 
the  very  shapes  into  which  they  fall. 

Consider  :  first  came  the  photograph.     Then 


108    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

motion  was  added  to  the  photograph.  We 
must  use  this  order  in  our  judgment.  If  it 
is  ever  to  evolve  into  a  national  art,  it  must 
first  be  good  picture,  then  good  motion. 

Belasco's  attitude  toward  the  stage  has  been 
denounced  by  the  purists  because  he  makes 
settings  too  large  a  portion  of  his  story-telling, 
and  transforms  his  theatre  into  the  paradise 
of  the  property-man.  But  this  very  quality 
of  the  well  spaced  setting,  if  you  please,  has 
made  his  chance  for  the  world's  moving  picture 
anthology.  As  reproduced  by  Jesse  K.  Lasky 
the  Belasco  production  is  the  only  type  of  the 
old-line  drama  that  seems  really  made  to  be 
the  basis  of  a  moving  picture  play.  Not  al- 
ways, but  as  a  general  rule,  Belasco  suffers  less 
detriment  in  the  films  than  other  men.  Take, 
for  instance,  the  Belasco-Lasky  production  of 
The  Rose  of  the  Rancho  with  Bessie  Barriscale 
as  the  heroine.  It  has  many  highly  modelled 
action-tableaus,  and  others  that  come  under 
the  classification  of  this  chapter.  When  I  was 
attending  it  not  long  ago,  here  in  my  home 
town,  the  fair  companion  at  my  side  said  that 
one  scene  looked  like  a  painting  by  Sorrola  y 
Bastida,  the  Spaniard.  It  is  the  episode  where 
the  Rose  sends  back  her  servant  to  inquire 


PAINTING-IN-MOTION  109 

the  hero's  name.  As  a  matter  of  fact  there 
were  Sorrolas  and  Zueloagas  all  through  the 
piece.  The  betrothal  reception  with  flying 
confetti  was  a  satisfying  piece  of  Spanish  splen- 
dor. It  was  space  music  indeed,  space 
measured  without  sound.  Incidentally  the 
cast  is  to  be  congratulated  on  its  picturesque 
acting,  especially  Miss  Barriscale  in  her  im- 
personation of  the  Rose. 

It  is  harder  to  grasp  the  other  side  of  the 
paradox,  picture-motions  considered  as  time 
measured  without  sound.  But  think  of  a 
lively  and  humoresque  clock  that  does  not  tick 
and  takes  only  an  hour  to  record  a  day.  Think 
of  a  noiseless  electric  vehicle,  where  you  are 
looking  out  of  the  windows,  going  down  the 
smooth  boulevard  of  Wonderland.  Consider 
a  film  with  three  simple  time-elements :  (1) 
that  of  the  pursuer,  (2)  the  pursued,  (3)  the 
observation  vehicle  of  the  camera  following 
the  road  and  watching  both  of  them,  now 
faster,  now  slower  than  they,  as  the  photog- 
rapher overtakes  the  actors  or  allows  them  to 
hurry  ahead.  The  plain  chase  is  a  bore  be- 
cause there  are  only  these  three  time-elements. 
But  the  chase  principle  survives  in  every 
motion  picture  and  we  simply  need  more  of  this 


110    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

sort  of  time  measurement,  better  considered. 
The  more  the  non-human  objects,  the  human 
actors,  and  the  observer  move  at  a  varying 
pace,  the  greater  chances  there  are  for  what 
might  be  called  time-and-space  music. 

No  two  people  in  the  same  room  should  ges- 
ture at  one  mechanical  rate,  or  lift  their  forks 
or  spoons,  keeping  obviously  together.  Yet  it 
stands  to  reason  that  each  successive  tableau 
should  be  not  only  a  charming  picture,  but  the 
totals  of  motion  should  be  an  orchestration  of 
various  speeds,  of  abrupt,  graceful,  and  seem- 
ingly awkward  progress,  worked  into  a  silent 
symphony. 

Supposing  it  is  a  fisher-maiden's  romance. 
In  the  background  the  waves  toss  in  one  tempo. 
Owing  to  the  sail,  the  boat  rocks  in  another. 
In  the  foreground  the  tree  alternately  bends 
and  recovers  itself  in  the  breeze,  making  more 
opposition  than  the  sail.  In  still  another 
time-unit  the  smoke  rolls  from  the  chimney, 
making  no  resistance  to  the  wind.  In  another 
unit,  the  lovers  pace  the  sand.  Yet  there 
is  one  least  common  multiple  in  which  all 
move.  This  the  producing  genius  should 
sense  and  make  part  of  the  dramatic  struc- 
ture, and  it  would   have   its   bearing   on  the 


PAINTING-IN-MOTION  111 

periodic  appearance  of  the   minor  and  major 
crises. 

Films  like  this,  you  say,  would  be  hard  to 
make.  Yes.  Here  is  the  place  to  affirm  that 
the  one-reel  Intimate  Photoplay  will  no  doubt 
be  the  form  in  which  this  type  of  time-and- 
space  music  is  developed.  The  music  of  silent 
motion  is  the  most  abstract  of  moving  picture 
attributes  and  will  probably  remain  the  least 
comprehended.  Like  the  quality  of  Walter 
Pater's  Marius  the  Epicurean,  or  that  of 
Shelley's  Hymn  to  Intellectual  Beauty,  it  will 
not  satisfy  the  sudden  and  the  brash. 

The  reader  will  find  in  his  round  of  the  pic- 
ture theatres  many  single  scenes  and  parts  of 
plays  that  elucidate  the  title  of  this  chapter. 
Often  the  first  two-thirds  of  the  story  will  fit 
it  well.  Then  the  producers,  finding  that,  for 
reasons  they  do  not  understand,  with  the  best 
and  most  earnest  actors  they  cannot  work  the 
three  reels  into  an  emotional  climax,  introduce 
some  stupid  disaster  and  rescue  utterly  ir- 
relevant to  the  character-parts  and  the  paint- 
ings that  have  preceded.  Whether  the  alleged 
thesis  be  love,  hate,  or  ambition,  cottage  charm, 
daisy  dell  sweetness,  or  the  ivy  beauty  of  an 


112    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

ancient  estate,  the  resource  for  the  final  punch 
seems  to  be  something  like  a  train-wreck. 
But  the  transfiguration  of  the  actors,  not  their 
destruction  or  rescue,  is  the  goal.  The  last 
moment  of  the  play  is  great,  not  when  it  is 
a  grandiose  salvation  from  a  burning  house, 
that  knocks  every  delicate  preceding  idea  in 
the  head,  but  a  tableau  that  is  as  logical  as 
the  awakening  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty  after 
the  hero  has  explored  all  the  charmed  castle. 


CHAPTER  X 

FURNITURE,     TRAPPINGS,    AND     INVENTIONS     IN 
MOTION 

The  Action  Pictures  are  sculpture-in-mo- 
tion,  the  Intimate  Pictures,  paintings-in-mo- 
tion,  the  Splendor  Pictures,  many  and  diverse. 
It  seems  far-fetched,  perhaps,  to  complete  the 
analogy  and  say  they  are  architecture-in- 
motion;  yet,  patient  reader,  unless  I  am  mis- 
taken, that  assumption  can  be  given  a  value 
in  time  without  straining  your  imagination. 

Landscape  gardening,  mural  painting,  church 
building,  and  furniture  making  as  well,  are 
some  of  the  things  that  come  under  the  head 
of  architecture.  They  are  discussed  between 
the  covers  of  any  architectural  magazine. 
There  is  a  particular  relation  in  the  photo- 
play between  Crowd  Pictures  and  landscape 
conceptions,  between  Patriotic  Films  and  mural 
paintings,  between  Religious  Films  and  archi- 
tecture. And  there  is  just  as  much  of  a 
relation  between  Fairy  Tales  and  furniture, 
which  same  is  discussed  in  this  chapter. 
I  lis 


114    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Let  us  return  to  Moving  Day,  chapter  four. 
This  idea  has  been  represented  many  times  with 
a  certain  sameness  because  the  producers  have 
not  thought  out  the  philosophy  behind  it.  A 
picture  that  is  all  action  is  a  plague,  one  that 
is  all  elephantine  and  pachydermatous  pageant 
is  a  bore,  and,  most  emphatically,  a  film  that 
is  all  mechanical  legerdemain  is  a  nuisance. 
The  possible  charm  in  a  so-called  trick  picture 
is  in  eliminating  the  tricks,  giving  them  dignity 
till  they  are  no  longer  such,  but  thoughts  in 
motion  and  made  visible.  In  Moving  Day  the 
shoes  are  the  most  potent.  They  go  through  a 
drama  that  is  natural  to  them.  To  march  with- 
out human  feet  inside  is  but  to  exaggerate  them- 
selves. It  would  not  be  amusing  to  have  them 
walk  upside  down,  for  instance.  As  long  as 
the  worn  soles  touch  the  pavement,  we  un- 
consciously conjure  up  the  character  of  the 
absent  owners,  about  whom  the  shoes  are 
indeed  gossiping.  So  let  the  remainder  of  the 
furniture  keep  still  while  the  shoes  do  their 
best.  Let  us  call  to  mind  a  classic  fairy-tale 
involving  shoes  that  are  magical :  The  Seven 
Leagued  Boots,  for  example,  or  The  Enchanted 
Moccasins,  or  the  footwear  of  Puss  in  Boots. 
How  gorgeous  and  embroidered  any  of  these 


FURNITURE  AND  INVENTIONS      115 

should  be,  and  at  a  crisis  what  sly  antics  they 
should  be  brought  to  play,  without  fidgeting 
all  over  the  shop !  Cinderella's  Slipper  is 
not  sufficiently  the  heroine  in  moving  pictures 
of  that  story.  It  should  be  the  tiny  leading 
lady  of  the  piece,  in  the  same  sense  the  mighty 
steam-engine  is  the  hero  of  the  story  in  chapter 
two.  The  peasants  when  they  used  to  tell  the 
tale  by  the  hearth  fire  said  the  shoe  was  made 
of  glass.  This  was  in  mediaeval  Europe,  at  a 
time  when  glass  was  much  more  of  a  rarity. 
The  material  was  chosen  to  imply  a  sort  of 
jewelled  strangeness  from  the  start.  When 
Cinderella  loses  it  in  her  haste,  it  should  flee 
at  once  like  a  white  mouse,  to  hide  under 
the  sofa.  It  should  be  pictured  there  with 
special  artifice,  so  that  the  sensuous  little  foot 
of  every  girl-child  in  the  audience  will  tingle 
to  wear  it.  It  should  move  a  bit  when  the 
prince  comes  frantically  hunting  his  lady,  and 
peep  out  just  in  time  for  that  royal  per- 
sonage to  spy  it.  Even  at  the  coronation  it 
should  be  the  centre  of  the  ritual,  more  gazed 
at  than  the  crown,  and  on  as  dazzling  a 
cushion.  The  final  taking  on  of  the  slipper 
by  the  lady  should  be  as  stately  a  ceremony 
as  the  putting  of  the  circlet  of  gold  on  her 


116    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

aureole  hair.  So  much  for  Cinderella.  But 
there  are  novel  stories  that  should  be  evolved 
by  preference,  about  new  sorts  of  magic  shoes. 

We  have  not  exhausted  Moving  Day.  The 
chairs  kept  still  through  the  Cinderella  dis- 
course. Now  let  them  take  their  innings. 
Instead  of  having  all  of  them  dance  about, 
invest  but  one  with  an  inner  life.  Let  its 
special  attributes  show  themselves  but  grad- 
ually, reaching  their  climax  at  the  highest 
point  of  excitement  in  the  reel,  and  being  an 
integral  part  of  that  enthusiasm.  Perhaps, 
though  we  be  inventing  a  new  fairy-tale,  it 
will  resemble  the  Siege  Perilous  in  the  Ar- 
thurian story,  the  chair  where  none  but  the 
perfect  knight  could  sit.  A  dim  row  of  flam- 
ing swords  might  surround  it.  When  the  soul 
entitled  to  use  this  throne  appears,  the  swords 
might  fade  away  and  the  gray  cover  hanging 
in  slack  folds  roll  back  because  of  an  inner  en- 
ergy and  the  chair  might  turn  from  gray  to 
white,  and  with  a  subtle  change  of  line  become 
a  throne. 

The  photoplay  imagination  which  is  able 
to  impart  vital  individuality  to  furniture  will 
not  stop  there.  Let  the  buildings  emanate 
conscious    life.     The    author-producer-photog- 


FURNITURE  AND  INVENTIONS      117 

rapher,  or  one  or  all  three,  will  make  into  a 
personality  some  place  akin  to  the  House  of 
Seven  Gables  till  the  ancient  building  dominates 
the  fancy  as  it  does  in  Hawthorne's  tale.  There 
are  various  ways  to  bring  about  this  result : 
by  having  its  outlines  waver  in  the  twilight, 
by  touches  of  phosphorescence,  or  by  the  pass- 
ing of  inexplicable  shadows  or  the  like.  It 
depends  upon  what  might  be  called  the  genius 
of  the  building.  There  is  the  Poe  story  of  the 
Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher,  where  with  the 
death  of  the  last  heir  the  castle  falls  crumbling 
into  the  tarn.  There  are  other  possible  tales 
on  such  terms,  never  yet  imagined,  to  be  born 
tomorrow.  Great  structures  may  become  in 
sort  villains,  as  in  the  old  Bible  narrative  of 
the  origin  of  the  various  languages.  The  pro- 
ducer can  show  the  impious  Babel  Tower,  going 
higher  and  higher  into  the  sky,  fascinating  and 
tempting  the  architects  till  a  confusion  of 
tongues  turns  those  masons  into  quarrelling 
mobs  that  become  departing  caravans,  leaving 
her  blasted  and  forsaken,  a  symbol  of  every 
Babylon  that  rose  after  her. 

There  are  fables  where  the  rocks  and  the 
mountains  speak.  Emerson  has  given  us  one 
where  the  Mountain  and  the  Squirrel  had  a 


118    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

quarrel.  The  Mountain  called  the  Squirrel 
"Little  Prig."  And  then  continues  a  clash 
of  personalities  more  possible  to  illustrate 
than  at  first  appears.  Here  we  come  to  the 
second  stage  of  the  fairy-tale  where  the  creature 
seems  so  unmanageable  in  his  physical  aspect 
that  some  actor  must  be  substituted  who 
will  embody  the  essence  of  him.  To  properly 
illustrate  the  quarrel  of  the  Mountain  and  the 
Squirrel,  the  steep  height  should  quiver  and 
heave  and  then  give  forth  its  personality  in 
the  figure  of  a  vague  smoky  giant,  capable  of 
human  argument,  but  with  oak-roots  in  his 
hair,  and  Bun,  perhaps,  become  a  jester  in 
squirrel's  dress. 

Or  it  may  be  our  subject  matter  is  a  tall  Dutch 
clock.  Father  Time  himself  might  emerge  there- 
from. Or  supposing  it  is  a  chapel,  in  a  knight's 
adventure.  An  angel  should  step  from  the  carv- 
ing by  the  door :  a  design  that  is  half  angel,  half 
flower.  But  let  the  clock  first  tremble  a  bit. 
Let  the  carving  stir  a  little,  and  then  let  the 
spirit  come  forth,  that  there  may  be  a  fine  re- 
lation between  the  impersonator  and  the  thing 
represented.  A  statue  too  often  takes  on  life 
by  having  the  actor  abruptly  substituted.  The 
actor  cannot  logically  take  on  more  personaHty 


FURNITURE  AND  INVENTIONS      119 

than  the  statue  has.  He  can  only  give  that  per- 
sonaHty  expression  in  a  new  channel.  In  the 
realm  of  letters,  a  real  transformation  scene, 
rendered  credible  to  the  higher  fancy  by  its  slow 
cumulative  movement,  is  the  tale  of  the  change 
of  the  dying  Rowena  to  the  living  triumphant 
Legia  in  Poe's  story  of  that  name.  Substitu- 
tion is  not  the  fairy-story.  It  is  transforma- 
tion, transfiguration,  that  is  the  fairy-story, 
be  it  a  divine  or  a  diabolical  change.  There  is 
never  more  than  one  witch  in  a  forest,  one 
Siege  Perilous  at  any  round  table.  But  she  is 
indeed  a  witch  and  the  other  is  surely  a  Siege 
Perilous. 

We  might  define  Fairy  Splendor  as  furniture 
transfigured,  for  without  transfiguration  there 
is  no  spiritual  motion  of  any  kind.  But  the 
phrase  "  f urniture-in-motion  "  serves  a  purpose. 
It  gets  us  back  to  the  earth  for  a  reason. 
Furniture  is  architecture,  and  the  fairy-tale 
picture  should  certainly  be  drawn  with  archi- 
tectural lines.  The  normal  fairy-tale  is  a  sort 
of  tiny  informal  child's  religion,  the  baby's  sec- 
ular temple,  and  it  should  have  for  the  most 
part  that  touch  of  delicate  sublimity  that  we 
see  in  the  mountain  chapel  or  grotto,  or  fancy 
in   the   dwellings   of    Aucassin    and    Nicolete. 


120    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

When  such  lines  are  drawn  by  the  truly  sophis- 
ticated producer,  there  lies  in  them  the  secret 
of  a  more  than  ritualistic  power.  Good  fairy 
architecture  amounts  to  an  incantation  in  itself. 

If  it  is  a  grown-up  legend,  it  must  be  more 
than  monumental  in  its  lines,  like  the  great 
stone  face  of  Hawthorne's  tale.  Even  a  chair 
can  reach  this  estate.  For  instance,  let  it  be 
the  throne  of  Wodin,  illustrating  some  passage 
in  Norse  mythology.  If  this  throne  has  a 
language,  it  speaks  with  the  lightning;  if  it 
shakes  with  its  threat,  it  moves  the  entire 
mountain  range  beneath  it.  Let  the  wizard- 
author-producer  climb  up  from  the  tricks  of 
Moving  Day  to  the  foot-hills  where  he  can  see 
this  throne  against  the  sky,  as  a  superarchitect 
would  draw  it.  But  even  if  he  can  give  this 
vision  in  the  films,  his  task  will  not  be  worth 
while  if  he  is  simply  a  teller  of  old  stories.  Let 
us  have  magic  shoes  about  which  are  more  golden 
dreams  than  those  concerning  Cinderella.  Let 
us  have  stranger  castles  than  that  of  Usher, 
more  dazzling  chairs  than  the  Siege  Perilous. 
Let  us  have  the  throne  of  Liberty,  not  the 
throne  of  Wodin. 

There  is  one  outstanding  photoplay  that  I 
always  have  in   mind   when  I  think  of  film 


FURNITURE  AND  INVENTIONS      121 

magic.  It  illustrates  some  principles  of  this 
chapter  and  chapter  four,  as  well  as  many 
others  through  the  book.  It  is  GriflSth's  pro- 
duction of  The  Avenging  Conscience.  It  is  also 
an  example  of  that  rare  thing,  a  use  of  old  ma- 
terial that  is  so  inspired  that  it  has  the  dignity 
of  a  new  creation.  The  raw  stuff  of  the  plot 
is  pieced  together  from  the  story  of  the  Tell- 
tale Heart  and  the  poem  Annabel  Lee.  It  has 
behind  it,  in  the  further  distance,  Poe's  con- 
science stories  of  the  Black  Cat,  and  William 
Wilson.  I  will  describe  the  film  here  at  length, 
and  apply  it  to  whatever  chapters  it  illustrates. 
An  austere  and  cranky  bachelor  (well  im- 
personated by  Spottiswoode  Aitken)  brings 
up  his  orphan  nephew  with  an  awkward  affec- 
tion. The  nephew  is  impersonated  by  Henry 
B.  Walthall.  The  uncle  has  an  ambition  that 
the  boy  will  become  a  man  of  letters.  In  his 
attempts  at  literature  the  youth  is  influenced 
by  Poe.  This  brings  about  the  Poe  quality  of 
his  dreams  at  the  crisis.  The  uncle  is  silently 
exasperated  when  he  sees  his  boy's  writing- 
time  broken  into,  and  wasted,  as  he  thinks, 
by  an  affair  with  a  lovely  Annabel  (Blanche 
Sweet).  The  intimacy  and  confidence  of  the 
lovers  has  progressed  so  far  that  it  is  a  natural 


122    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

thing  for  the  artless  girl  to  cross  the  gardens 
and  after  hesitation  knock  at  the  door.  She 
wants  to  know  what  has  delayed  her  boy. 
She  is  all  in  a  flutter  on  account  of  the  overdue 
appointment  to  go  to  a  party  together.  The 
scene  of  the  pretty  hesitancy  on  the  step,  her 
knocking,  and  the  final  impatient  tapping  with 
her  foot  is  one  of  the  best  illustrations  of  the 
intimate  mood  in  photoplay  episodes.  On  the 
girl's  entrance  the  uncle  overwhelms  her  and 
the  boy  by  saying  she  is  pursuing  his  nephew 
like  a  common  woman  of  the  town.  The  words 
actually  burst  through  the  film,  not  as  a  melo- 
dramatic, but  as  an  actual  insult.  This  is  a 
thing  almost  impossible  to  do  in  the  photo- 
play. This  outrage  in  the  midst  of  an 
atmosphere  of  chivalry  is  one  of  Griflfith's 
master-moments.  It  accounts  for  the  vol- 
canic fury  of  the  nephew  that  takes  such  trouble 
to  burn  itself  out  afterwards.  It  is  not  easy 
for  the  young  to  learn  that  they  must  let  those 
people  flay  them  for  an  hour  who  have  made 
every  sacrifice  for  them  through  a  lifetime. 

This  scene  of  insult  and  the  confession  scene, 
later  in  this  film,  moved  me  as  similar  passages 
in  high  drama  would  do ;  and  their  very  rareness,* 
even  in  the  hands  of  photoplay  masters,  indicates 


FURNITURE  AND  INVENTIONS      123 

that  such  purely  dramatic  climaxes  cannot  be 
the  main  asset  of  the  moving  picture.  Over  and 
over,  with  the  best  talent  and  producers,  they 
fail. 

The  boy  and  girl  go  to  the  party  in  spite  of 
the  uncle.  It  is  while  on  the  way  that  the  boy 
looks  on  the  face  of  a  stranger  who  afterwards 
mixes  up  in  his  dream  as  the  detective.  There 
is  a  mistake  in  the  printing  here.  There  are 
several  minutes  of  a  worldly-wise  oriental  dance 
to  amuse  the  guests,  while  the  lovers  are  alone 
at  another  end  of  the  garden.  It  is,  possibly, 
the  aptest  contrast  with  the  seriousness  of 
our  hero  and  heroine.  But  the  social  affair 
could  have  had  a  better  title  than  the  one  that 
is  printed  on  the  film  "An  Old-fashioned 
Sweetheart  Party."  Possibly  the  dance  was 
put  in  after  the  title. 

The  lovers  part  forever.  The  girl's  pride 
has  had  a  mortal  wound.  About  this  time  is 
thrown  on  the  screen  the  kind  of  a  climax 
quite  surely  possible  to  the  photoplay.  It 
reminds  one,  not  of  the  mood  of  Poe's  verse, 
but  of  the  spirit  of  the  paintings  of  George 
Frederick  Watts.  It  is  allied  in  some  way,  in 
my  mind,  with  his  "Love  and  Life,"  though 
but  a  single  draped  figure  within  doors,  and 


124    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

"  Love  and  Life  "  are  undraped  figures,  climbing 
a  mountain. 

The  boy,  having  said  good-by,  remembers 
the  lady  Annabel.  It  is  a  crisis  after  the 
event.  In  his  vision  she  is  shown  in  a  darkened 
passageway,  all  in  white,  looking  out  of  the 
window  upon  the  moonlit  sky.  Simple  enough 
in  its  elements,  this  vision  is  shown  twice  in 
glory.  The  third  replica  has  not  the  same 
glamour.  The  first  two  are  transfigurations 
into  divinity.  The  phrase  thrown  on  the  screen 
is  "The  moon  never  beams  without  bringing  me 
dreams  of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee."  And 
the  sense  of  loss  goes  through  and  through  one 
like  a  flight  of  arrows.  Another  noble  picture, 
more  realistic,  more  sculpturesque,  is  of  Anna- 
bel mourning  on  her  knees  in  her  room.  Her 
bended  head  makes  her  akin  to  "Niobe,  all 
tears." 

The  boy  meditating  on  a  park-path  is  mean- 
while watching  the  spider  in  his  web  devour 
the  fly.  Then  he  sees  the  ants  in  turn  destroy 
the  spider.  These  pictures  are  shown  on  so 
large  a  scale  that  the  spider  web  fills  the  end  of 
the  theatre.  Then  the  ant-tragedy  does  the 
same.  They  can  be  classed  as  particularly  apt 
hieroglyphics  in  the  sense  of  chapter  thirteen. 


FURNITURE  AND   INVENTIONS      125 

Their  horror  and  decorative  iridescence  are 
of  the  Poe  sort.  It  is  the  first  hint  of  the  Poe 
hieroglyphic  we  have  had  except  the  black 
patch  over  the  eye  of  the  uncle,  along  with  his 
jaundiced,  cadaverous  face.  The  boy  meditates 
on  how  all  nature  turns  on  cruelty  and  the 
survival  of  the  fittest. 

He  passes  just  now  an  Italian  laborer 
(impersonated  by  George  Seigmann).  This 
laborer  enters  later  into  his  dream.  He  finally 
goes  to  sleep  in  his  chair,  the  resolve  to  kill 
his  uncle  rankling  in  his  heart. 

The  audience  is  not  told  that  a  dream  begins. 
To  understand  that,  one  must  see  the  film 
through  twice.  But  it  is  perfectly  legitimate  to 
deceive  us.  Through  our  ignorance  we  share 
the  young  man's  hallucinations,  entering  into 
them  as  imperceptibly  as  he  does.  We  think 
it  is  the  next  morning.  Poe  would  start  the 
atory  just  here,  and  here  the  veritable  Poe-esque 
quality  begins. 

After  debate  within  himself  as  to  means,  the 
nephew  murders  his  uncle  and  buries  him  in 
the  thick  wall  of  the  chimney.  The  Italian 
laborer  witnesses  the  death-struggle  through 
the  window.  While  our  consciences  are  aching 
and  the  world  crashes  round  us,  he  levies  black- 


126    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

mail.  Then  for  due  compensation  the  Italian 
becomes  an  armed  sentinel.  The  boy  fears 
detection. 

Yet  the  foolish  youth  thinks  he  will  be 
happy.  But  every  time  he  runs  to  meet  his 
sweetheart  he  is  appalled  by  hallucinations 
over  her  shoulder.  The  cadaverous  ghost  of 
the  uncle  is  shown  on  the  screen  several  times. 
It  is  an  appearance  visible  to  the  young  man 
and  the  audience  only.  Later  the  ghost  is 
implied  by  the  actions  of  the  guilty  one.  We 
merely  imagine  it.  This  is  a  piece  of  sound 
technique.  We  no  more  need  a  dray  full  of 
ghosts  than  a  dray  full  of  jumping  furniture. 

The  village  in  general  has  never  suspected 
the  nephew.  Only  two  people  suspect  him : 
the  broken-hearted  girl  and  an  old  friend  of  his 
father.  This  gentleman  puts  a  detective  on  the 
trail.  (The  detective  is  impersonated  by  Ralph 
Lewis.)  The  gradual  breakdown  of  the  victim 
is  traced  by  dramatic  degrees.  This  is  the 
second  case  of  the  thing  I  have  argued  as  being 
generally  impossible  in  a  photoplay  chronicle  of 
a  private  person,  and  which  the  considerations 
of  chapter  twelve  indicate  as  exceptional.  We 
trace  the  innermost  psychology  of  one  special 
citizen  step  by  step  to  the  crisis,  and  that  path 


FURNITURE  AND  INVENTIONS      127 

is  actually  the  primary  interest  of  the  story. 
The  climax  is  the  confession  to  the  detective. 
With  this  self -exposure  the  direct  Poe-quality  of 
the  technique  comes  to  an  end.  Moreover,  Poe 
would  end  the  story  here.  But  the  Poe-dream 
is  set  like  a  dark  jewel  in  a  gold  ring,  of  which 
more  anon. 

Let  us  dwell  upon  the  confession.  The  first 
stage  of  this  conscience-climax  is  reached  by 
the  dramatization  of  the  "Tell-tale  Heart" 
reminiscence  in  the  memory  of  the  dreaming 
man.  The  episode  makes  a  singular  applica- 
tion of  the  theories  with  which  this  chapter 
begins.  For  furniture-in-motion  we  have  the 
detective's  pencil.  For  trappings  and  inven- 
tions in  motion  we  have  his  tapping  shoe  and 
the  busy  clock  pendulum.  Because  this  scene 
is  so  powerful  the  photoplay  is  described  in  this 
chapter  rather  than  any  other,  though  the  ap- 
plication is  more  spiritual  than  literal.  The 
half-mad  boy  begins  to  divulge  that  he  thinks 
that  the  habitual  ticking  of  the  clock  is  sa- 
tanically  timed  to  the  beating  of  the  dead 
man's  heart.  Here  more  unearthliness  hovers 
round  a  pendulum  than  any  merely  mechani- 
cal trick-movements  could  impart.  Then  the 
merest  commonplace  of  the  detective^  tapping 


128    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

his  pencil  in  the  same  time  —  the  boy  trying 
in  vain  to  ignore  it  —  increases  the  strain,  till 
the  audience  has  well-nigh  the  hallucinations 
of  the  victim.  Then  the  bold  tapping  of  the 
detective's  foot,  who  would  do  all  his  accusing 
without  saying  a  word,  and  the  startling  coin- 
cidence of  the  owl  hoot-hooting  outside  the 
window  to  the  same  measure,  bring  us  close  to 
the  final  breakdown.  These  realistic  material 
actors  are  as  potent  as  the  actual  apparitions 
of  the  dead  man  that  preceded  them.  Those 
visions  prepared  the  mind  to  invest  trifles 
with  significance.  The  pencil  and  the  pendu- 
lum conducting  themselves  in  an  apparently 
everyday  fashion,  satisfy  in  a  far  nobler  way  the 
thing  in  the  cave-man  attending  the  show  that 
made  him  take  note  in  other  centuries  of  the 
rope  that  began  to  hang  the  butcher,  the  fire 
that  began  to  burn  the  stick,  and  the  stick  that 
began  to  beat  the  dog. 

Now  the  play  takes  a  higher  demoniacal 
plane  reminiscent  of  Poe's  Bells.  The  boy 
opens  the  door.  He  peers  into  the  darkness. 
There  he  sees  them.  They  are  the  nearest 
to  the  sinister  Poe  quality  of  any  illustrations 
I  recall  that  attempt  it.  "They  are  neither 
man  nor  woman,  they  are  neither  brute  nor 


FURNITURE  AND  INVENTIONS      129 

human ;  they  are  ghouls."  The  scenes  are  de- 
signed with  the  architectural  dignity  that  the 
first  part  of  this  chapter  has  insisted  wizard 
trappings  should  take  on.  Now  it  is  that  the 
boy  confesses  and  the  Poe  story  ends. 

Then  comes  what  the  photoplay  people 
call  the  punch.  It  is  discussed  at  the  end  of 
chapter  nine.  It  is  a  kind  of  solar  plexus  blow 
to  the  sensibilities,  certainly  by  this  time  an 
unnecessary  part  of  the  film.  Usually  every 
soul  movement  carefully  built  up  to  where 
the  punch  begins  is  forgotten  in  the  material 
smash  or  rescue.  It  is  not  so  bad  in  this  case, 
but  it  is  a  too  conventional  proceeding  for 
Griffith. 

The  boy  flees  interminably  to  a  barn  too 
far  away.  There  is  a  siege  by  a  posse,  led 
by  the  detective.  It  is  veritable  border  war- 
fare. The  Italian  leads  an  unsuccessful  rescue 
party.  The  unfortunate  youth  finally  hangs 
himself.  The  beautiful  Annabel  bursts  through 
the  siege  a  moment  too  late;  then,  heart 
broken,  kills  herself.  These  things  are.  carried 
out  by  good  technicians.  But  it  would  have 
been  better  to  have  had  the  suicide  with  but 
a  tiny  part  of  the  battle,  and  the  story  five 
reels  long  instead  of  six.     This  physical  turmoil 


130    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

is  carried  into  the  spiritual  world  only  by  the 
psychic  momentum  acquired  through  the  previ- 
ous confession  scene.  The  one  thing  with  in- 
trinsic pictorial  heart-power  is  the  death  of 
Annabel  by  jumping  off  the  sea  cliff. 

Then  comes  the  awakening.  To  every  one 
who  sees  the  film  for  the  first  time  it  is  like 
the  forgiveness  of  sins.  The  boy  finds  his 
uncle  still  alive.  In  revulsion  from  himself, 
he  takes  the  old  man  into  his  arms.  The 
uncle  has  already  begun  to  be  ashamed  of  his 
terrible  words,  and  has  prayed  for  a  contrite 
heart.  The  radiant  Annabel  is  shown  in  the 
early  dawn  rising  and  hurrying  to  her  lover 
in  spite  of  her  pride.  She  will  bravely  take 
back  her  last  night's  final  word.  She  cannot 
live  without  him.  The  uncle  makes  amends  to 
the  girl.  The  three  are  in  the  inconsistent  but 
very  human  mood  of  sweet  forgiveness  for 
love's  sake,  that  sometimes  overtakes  the  bit- 
terest of  us  after  some  crisis  in  our  days. 

The  happy  pair  are  shown,  walking  through 
the  hills.  Thrown  upon  the  clouds  for  them 
are  the  moods  of  the  poet-lover's  heart.  They 
look  into  the  woods  and  see  his  fancies  of 
Spring,  the  things  that  he  will  some  day  write. 
These  pageants  might  be  longer.     They  furnish 


FURNITURE  AND  mVENTIONS      131 

the  great  climax.  They  make  a  consistent 
parallel  and  contrast  with  the  ghoul-visions 
that  end  with  the  confession  to  the  detective. 
They  wipe  that  terror  from  the  mind.  They 
do  not  represent  Poe.  The  rabbits,  the  leop- 
ard, the  fairies,  Cupid  and  Psyche  in  the  clouds, 
and  the  little  loves  from  the  hollow  trees  are 
contributions  to  the  original  poetry  of  the  eye. 

Finally,  the  central  part  of  this  production 
of  the  Avenging  Conscience  is  no  dilution  of 
Poe,  but  an  adequate  interpretation,  a  story 
he  might  have  written.  Those  who  have  the 
European  respect  for  Poe's  work  will  be  most 
apt  to  be  satisfied  with  this  section,  including 
the  photographic  texture  which  may  be  said  to 
be  an  authentic  equivalent  of  his  prose.  How 
often  Poe  has  been  primly  patronized  for  his 
majestic  quality,  the  wizard  power  which  looms 
above  all  his  method  and  subject-matter  and 
furnishes  the  only  reason  for  its  existence ! 

For  Griffith  to  embroider  this  Poe  Inter- 
pretation in  the  centre  of  a  fairly  consistent 
fabric,  and  move  on  into  a  radiant  climax 
of  his  own  that  is  in  organic  relation  to  the 
whole,  is  an  achievement  indeed.  The  final 
criticism  is  that  the  play  is  derivative.  It  is 
not  built  from  new  material  in  all  its  parts,  as 


132    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

was  the  original  story.  One  must  be  a  student 
of  Poe  to  get  its  ultimate  flavor.  But  in  read- 
ing Poe's  own  stories,  one  need  not  be  a  reader 
of  any  one  special  preceding  writer  to  get  the 
strange  and  solemn  exultation  of  that  literary 
enchanter.  He  is  the  quintessence  of  his  own 
lonely  soul. 

Though  the  wizard  element  is  paramount  in 
the  Poe  episode  of  this  film,  the  appeal  to  the 
conscience  is  only  secondary  to  this.  It  is 
keener  than  in  Poe,  owing  to  the  human  ele- 
ments before  and  after.  The  Chameleon  pro- 
ducer approximates  in  The  Avenging  Conscience 
the  type  of  mystic  teacher,  discussed  in  the 
twentieth  chapter :  "  The  Prophet- Wizard." 


CHAPTER  XI 

ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION 

This  chapter  is  a  superstructure  upon  the 
foundations  of  chapters  five,  six,  and  seven. 

I  have  said  that  it  is  a  quality,  not  a  defect, 
of  the  photoplays  that  while  the  actors  tend  to 
become  types  and  hieroglyphics  and  dolls,  on 
the  other  hand,  dolls  and  hieroglyphics  and 
mechanisms  tend  to  become  human.  By  an 
extension  of  this  principle,  non-human  tones, 
textures,  lines,  and  spaces  take  on  a  vital- 
ity almost  like  that  of  flesh  and  blood.  It  is 
partly  for  this  reason  that  some  energy  is 
hereby  given  to  the  matter  of  reenf orcing  the 
idea  that  the  people  with  the  proper  training 
to  take  the  higher  photoplays  in  hand  are  not 
veteran  managers  of  vaudeville  circuits,  but 
rather  painters,  sculptors,  and  architects,  pref- 
erably those  who  are  in  the  flush  of  their  first 
reputation  in  these  crafts.  Let  us  imagine 
the  centres  of  the  experimental  drama,  such  as 
the  Drama  League,  the  Universities,  and  the 

188 


134      THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

stage  societies,  calling  in  people  of  these  profes- 
sions and  starting  photoplay  competitions  and 
enterprises.  Let  the  thesis  be  here  emphasized 
that  the  architects,  above  all,  are  the  men  to 
advance  the  work  in  the  ultra-creative  photo- 
play. "But  few  architects,"  you  say,  "are 
creative,  even  in  their  own  profession." 

Let  us  begin  with  the  point  of  view  of  the 
highly  trained  pedantic  young  builder,  the  type 
that,  in  the  past  few  years,  has  honored  our 
landscape  with  those  paradoxical  memorials  of 
Abraham  Lincoln  the  railsplitter,  memorials 
whose  Ionic  columns  are  straight  from  Paris. 
Pericles  is  the  real  hero  of  such  a  man,  not 
Lincoln.  So  let  him  for  the  time  surrender 
completely  to  that  great  Greek.  He  is  worthy 
of  a  monument  nobler  than  any  America  has 
set  up  to  any  one.  The  final  pictures  may  be 
taken  in  front  of  buildings  with  which  the 
architect  or  his  favorite  master  has  already 
edified  this  republic,  or  if  the  war  is  over,  before 
some  surviving  old-world  models.  But  what- 
ever the  method,  let  him  study  to  express  at 
last  the  thing  that  moves  within  him  as  a  creep- 
ing fire,  which  Americans  do  not  yet  under- 
stand and  the  loss  of  which  makes  the  classic 
in  our  architecture  a  mere  piling  of  elegant 


ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION         135 

stones  upon  one  another.  In  the  arrange- 
ments of  crowds  and  flow  of  costuming  and 
study  of  tableau  climaxes,  let  the  architect 
bring  an  illusion  of  that  delicate  flowering, 
that  brilliant  instant  of  time  before  the  Pelo- 
ponnesian  war.  It  does  not  seem  impossible 
when  one  remembers  the  achievements  of  the 
author  of  Cabiria  in  approximating  Rome  and 
Carthage. 

Let  the  principal  figure  of  the  pageant  be  the 
virgin  Athena,  walking  as  a  presence  visible 
only  to  us,  yet  among  her  own  people,  and 
robed  and  armed  and  panoplied,  the  guardian  of 
Pericles,  appearing  in  those  streets  that  were 
herself.  Let  the  architect  show  her  as  she 
came  only  in  a  vision  to  Phidias,  while  the 
dramatic  writers  and  mathematicians  and  poets 
and  philosophers  go  by.  The  crowds  should  be 
like  pillars  of  Athens,  and  she  like  a ,  great 
pillar.  The  crowds  should  be  like  the  tossing 
waves  of  the  Ionic  Sea  and  Athena  like  the  white 
ship  upon  the  waves.  The  audiences  in  the 
tragedies  should  be  shown  like  wheat-fields 
on  the  hill-sides,  always  stately  yet  blown  by 
the  wind,  and  Athena  the  one  sower  and 
reaper.  Crowds  should  descend  the  steps 
of    the    Acropolis,    nymphs    and    fauns    and 


136    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Olympians,  carved  as  it  were  from  the  marble, 
yet  flowing  like  a  white  cataract  down  into 
the  town,  bearing  with  them  Athena,  their 
soul.     All  this  in  the  Photoplay  of  Pericles. 

No  civic  or  national  incarnation  since  that 
time  appeals  to  the  poets  like  the  French 
worship  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans.  In  Percy 
MacKaye's  book,  The  Present  Hour,  he  says 
on  the  French  attitude  toward  the  war :  — 

'    ."*      '-^       -'      .'      ''\    3, 
"Half  artist  and  half  anchorite. 

Part  siren  and  part  Socrates, 

Her  face  —  alluring  fair,  yet  recondite  — 

Smiled  through  her  salons  and  academies. 

Lightly  she  wore  her  double  mask. 
Till  sudden,  at  war's  kindling  spark. 
Her  inmost  self,  in  shining  mail  and  casque. 
Blazed  to  the  world  her  single  soul  —  Jeanne 
d' Arc!" 

To  make  a  more  elaborate  showing  of  what 
is  meant  by  architecture-in-motion,  let  us 
progress  through  the  centuries  and  suppose 
that  the  builder  has  this  enthusiasm  for  France, 
that  he  is  slowly  setting  about  to  build  a 
photoplay  around  the  idea  of  the  Maid. 

First  let  him  take  the  mural  painting  point  of 


ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION         137 

view.  Bear  in  mind  these  characteristics  of  that 
art :  it  is  wall-painting  that  is  an  organic  part 
of  the  surface  on  which  it  appears :  it  is  on 
the  same  lines  as  the  building  and  adapted  to 
the  colors  and  forms  of  the  structure  of  which 
it  is  a  part. 

The  wall-splendors  of  America  that  are  the 
most  scattered  about  in  inexpensive  copies 
are  the  decorations  of  the  Boston  Public 
Library.  Note  the  pillar-like  quality  of  Sar- 
gent's prophets,  the  solemn  dignity  of  Abbey's 
Holy  Grail  series,  the  grand  horizontals  and 
perpendiculars  of  the  work  of  Puvis  de  Cha- 
vannes.  The  last  is  the  orthodox  mural  painter 
of  the  world,  but  the  other  two  will  serve  the 
present  purpose  also.  These  architectural 
paintings  if  they  were  dramatized,  still  retain- 
ing their  powerful  lines,  would  be  three  exceed- 
ingly varied  examples  of  what  is  meant  by 
architecture-in-motion.  The  visions  that  ap- 
pear to  Jeanne  d'Arc  might  be  delineated  in  the 
mood  of  some  one  of  these  three  painters.  The 
styles  will  not  mix  in  the  same  episode. 

A  painter  from  old  time  we  mention  here, 
not  because  he  was  orthodox,  but  because  of 
his  genius  for  the  drawing  of  action,  and  be- 
cause he  covered  tremendous  wall-spaces  with 


138    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Venetian  tone  and  color,  is  Tintoretto.  If  there 
is  a  mistrust  that  the  mural  painting  standard 
will  tend  to  destroy  the  sense  of  action,  Tin- 
toretto will  restore  confidence  in  that  regard. 
As  the  Winged  Victory  represents  flying  in 
sculpture,  so  his  work  is  the  extreme  example 
of  action  with  the  brush.  The  Venetians  called 
him  the  furious  painter.  One  must  understand 
a  man  through  his  admirers.  So  explore 
Ruskin's  sayings  on  Tintoretto. 

I  have  a  dozen  moving  picture  magazine 
clippings,  which  are  in  their  humble  way  first 
or  second  cousins  of  mural  paintings.  I  will  de- 
scribe but  two,  since  the  method  of  selection  has 
already  been  amply  indicated,  and  the  reader 
can  find  his  own  examples.  For  a  Crowd  Pic- 
ture, for  instance,  here  is  a  scene  at  a  mas- 
querade ball.  The  glitter  of  the  costumes  is 
an  extension  of  the  glitter  of  the  candelabra 
overhead.  The  people  are  as  it  were  chande- 
liers, hung  lower  down.  The  lines  of  the 
candelabra  relate  to  the  very  ribbon  streamers 
of  the  heroine,  and  the  massive  wood-work  is 
the  big  brother  of  the  square-shouldered  heroes 
in  the  foreground,  though  one  is  a  clown,  one 
is  a  Russian  Duke,  and  one  is  Don  Csesar 
De  Bazan.     The  building  is  the  father  of  the 


ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION         139 

people.  These  relations  can  be  kept  in  the 
court  scenes  of  the  production  of  Jeanne 
d'Arc. 

Here  is  a  night  picture  from  a  war  story 
in  which  the  light  is  furnished  by  two  fires 
whose  coals  and  brands  are  hidden  by  earth 
heaped  in  front.  The  sentiment  of  tenting 
on  the  old  camp-ground  pervades  the  scene. 
The  far  end  of  the  line  of  those  keeping 
bivouac  disappears  into  the  distance,  and  the 
depths  of  the  rank's  behind  them  fade  into  the 
thick  shadows.  The  flag,  a  little  above  the  line, 
catches  the  light.  One  great  tree  overhead 
spreads  its  leafless  half-lit  arms  through  the 
gloom.  Behind  all  this  is  unmitigated  black. 
The  composition  reminds  one  of  a  Hiroshige 
study  of  midnight.  These  men  are  certainly  a 
part  of  the  architecture  of  out  of  doors,  and 
mysterious  as  the  vault  of  Heaven.  This  type 
of  a  camp-fire  is  possible  in  our  Jeanne  d'Arc. 

These  pictures,  new  and  old,  great  and  un- 
known, indicate  some  of  the  standards  of  judg- 
ment and  types  of  vision  whereby  our  concep- 
tion of  the  play  is  to  be  evolved. 

By  what  means  shall  we  block  it  in.^^  Our 
friend  Tintoretto  made  use  of  methods  which 
are  here  described  from  one  of  his  biographers. 


140    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

W.  Roscoe  Osier:  **They  have  been  much  en- 
larged upon  in  the  different  biographies  as 
the  means  whereby  Tintoretto  obtained  his 
power.  They  constituted,  however,  his  habit- 
ual method  of  determining  the  effect  and  gen- 
eral grouping  of  his  compositions.  He  moulded 
with  extreme  care  small  models  of  his  figures 
in  wax  and  clay.  Titian  and  other  painters 
as  well  as  Tintoretto  employed  this  method 
as  the  means  of  determining  the  light  and 
shade  of  their  design.  Afterwards  the  later 
stages  of  their  work  were  painted  from  the 
life.  But  in  Tintoretto's  compositions  the 
position  and  arrangement  of  his  figures  as  he 
began  to  dwell  upon  his  great  conceptions 
were  such  as  to  render  the  study  from  the  liv- 
ing model  a  matter  of  great  difficulty  and  at 
times  an  impossibility.  .  .  .  He  .  .  .  mod- 
elled his  sculptures  .  .  .  imparting  to  his 
models  a  far  more  complete  character  than  had 
been  customary.  These  firmly  moulded  figures, 
sometimes  draped,  sometimes  free,  he  sus- 
pended in  a  box  made  of  wood,  or  of  cardboard 
for  his  smaller  work,  in  whose  walls  he  made 
an  aperture  to  admit  a  lighted  candle.  .  .  . 
He  sits  moving  the  light  about  amidst  his 
assemblage  of  figures.     Every  aspect  of  sublim- 


ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION         141 

ity  of  light  suitable  to  a  Madonna  surrounded 
with  angels,  or  a  heavenly  choir,  finds  its  minia- 
ture response  among  the  figures  as  the  light 
moves. 

**  This  was  the  method  by  which,  in  con- 
junction with  a  profound  study  of  outward 
nature,  sympathy  with  the  beauty  of  different 
types  of  face  and  varieties  of  form,  with  the 
many  changing  hues  of  the  Venetian  scene, 
with  the  great  laws  of  color  and  a  knowledge 
of  literature  and  history,  he  was  able  to  shadow 
forth  his  great  imagery  of  the  intuitional 
world." 

This  method  of  Tintoretto  suggests  several 
possible  derivatives  in  the  preparation  of  motion 
pictures.  Let  the  painters  and  sculptors  be  now 
called  upon  for  painting  models  and  sculptural 
models,  while  the  architect,  already  present, 
supplies  the  architectural  models,  all  three 
giving  us  visible  scenarios  to  furnish  the  car- 
dinal motives  for  the  acting,  from  which  the 
amateur  photoplay  company  of  the  university 
can  begin  their  interpretation. 

For  episodes  that  follow  the  precedent  of  the 
simple  Action  Film  tiny  wax  models  of  the 
figures,  toned  and  costumed  to  the  heart's 
delight,  would  tell  the  high  points  of  the  story. 


142    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Let  them  represent,  perhaps,  seven  crucial  situa- 
tions from  the  proposed  photoplay.  Let  them 
be  designed  as  uniquely  in  their  dresses  as  are 
the  Russian  dancers'  dresses,  by  Leon  Bakst. 
Then  to  alternate  with  these,  seven  little  paint- 
ings of  episodes,  designed  in  blacks,  whites, 
and  grays y  each  representing  some  elusive  point 
in  the  intimate  aspects  of  the  story.  Let  there 
be  a  definite  system  of  space  and  texture  rela- 
tions retained  throughout  the  set. 

The  models  for  the  splendor  scenes  would, 
of  course,  be  designed  by  the  architect,  and 
these  other  scenes  alternated  with  and  subor- 
dinated to  his  work.  The  effects  which  he 
would  conceive  would  be  on  a  grander  scale. 
The  models  for  these  might  be  mere  exten- 
sions of  the  methods  of  those  others,  but  in 
the  typical  and  highest  let  us  imagine  ourselves 
going  beyond  Tintoretto  in  preparation. 

Let  the  principal  splendor  moods  and  effects 
be  indicated  by  actual  structures,  such  minia- 
tures as  architects  offer  along  with  their  plans 
of  public  buildings,  but  transfigured  beyond 
that  standard  by  the  light  of  inspiration  com- 
bined with  experimental  candle-light,  spot- 
light, sunlight,  or  torchlight.  They  must  not 
be   conceived   as   stage   arrangements   of   wax 


ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION         143 

figures  with  harmonious  and  fitting  back- 
grounds, but  as  backgrounds  that  clamor  for 
utterance  through  the. figures  in  front  of  them, 
as  Athens  finds  her  soul  in  the  Athena  with 
which  we  began.  These  three  sorts  of  models, 
properly  harmonized,  should  have  with  them 
a  written  scenario  constructed  to  indicate 
all  the  scenes  between.  The  scenario  will  lead 
up  to  these  models  for  climaxes  and  hold  them 
together  in  the  celestial  hurdle-race. 

We  have  in  our  museums  some  definite  archi- 
tectural suggestions  as  to  the  style  of  these 
models.  There  are  in  Blackstone  Hall  in  the 
Chicago  Art  Institute  several  great  Romanesque 
and  Gothic  portals,  pillars,  and  statues  that 
might  tell  directly  upon  certain  settings  of  our 
Jeanne  d'Arc  pageant.  They  are  from  Notre 
Dame  du  Port  at  Clermont-Ferrand,  the  Abbey 
church  of  St.  Gilles,  the  Abbey  of  Charlieu, 
the  Cathedral  of  Amiens,  Notre  Dame  at 
Paris,  the  Cathedral  of  Bordeaux,  and  the 
Cathedral  of  Rheims.  Perhaps  the  object  I 
care  for  most  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum, 
New  York,  is  the  complete  model  of  Notre 
Dame,  Paris,  by  M.  Joly.  Why  was  this  model 
of  Notre  Dame  made  with  such  exquisite 
pains  .f^     Certainly   not   as    a   matter  of  mere 


144    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

information  or  cultivation.  I  venture  the  first 
right  these  things  have  to  be  taken  care  of  in 
museums  is  to  stimulate  to  new  creative  effort. 

I  went  to  look  over  the  Chicago  collection 
with  a  friend  and  poet  Arthur  Davison  Ficke. 
He  said  something  to  this  effect:  "The  first 
thing  I  see  when  I  look  at  these  fragments 
is  the  whole  cathedral  in  all  its  original  pro- 
portions. Then  I  behold  the  mediaeval  market- 
place hunched  against  the  building,  burying 
the  foundations,  the  life  of  man  growing  rank 
and  weedlike  around  it.  Then  I  see  the  bishop 
coming  from  the  door  with  his  impressive  train. 
But  a  crusade  may  go  by  on  the  way  to 
the  Holy  Land.  A  crusade  may  come  home 
battered  and  in  rags.  I  get  the  sense  of  life, 
as  of  a  rapid  in  a  river  flowing  round  a  great 
rock." 

The  cathedral  stands  for  the  age-long  medi- 
tation of  the  ascetics  in  the  midst  of  battling 
tribes.  This  brooding  architecture  has  a  blood- 
brotherhood  with  the  meditating,  saint-seeing 
Jeanne  d'Arc. 

There  is  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  a  large 
and  famous  canvas  painted  by  the  dying  Bastien 
Le  Page ;  —  Jeanne  Listening  to  the  Voices. 
It  is  a  picture  of  which  the  technicians  and  the 


ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION         145 

poets  are  equally  enamored.  The  tale  of  Jeanne 
d'Arc  could  be  told,  carrying  this  particular 
peasant  girl  through  the  story.  And  for  a 
piece  of  architectural  pageantry  akin  to  the 
photoplay  ball-room  scene  already  described, 
yet  far  above  it,  there  is  nothing  more  apt  for 
our  purpose  than  the  painting  by  Boutet  de 
Monvel  filling  the  space  at  the  top  of  the  stair 
at  the  Chicago  Art  Institute.  Though  the 
Bastien  Le  Page  is  a  large  painting,  this  is 
many  times  the  size.  It  shows  Joan's  visit 
at  the  court  of  Chinon.  It  is  big  without 
being  empty.  It  conveys  a  glitter  which  ex- 
presses one  of  the  things  that  is  meant  by  the 
phrase :  Splendor  Photoplay.  But  for  moving 
picture  purposes  it  is  the  Bastien  Le  Page  Joan 
that  should  appear  here,  set  in  dramatic  con- 
trast to  the  Boutet  de  Monvel  Court.  Two 
valuable  neighbors  to  whom  I  have  read  this 
chapter  suggest  that  the  whole  Boutet  de 
Monvel  illustrated  child's  book  about  our 
heroine  could  be  used  on  this  grand  scale,  for 
a  background. 

The  Iness  room  at  the  Chicago  Art  Institute 
is  another  school  for  the  meditative  producer, 
if  he  would  evolve  his  tribute  to  France  on 
American  soil.     Though  no  photoplay  tableau 


146    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

has  yet  approximated  the  brush  of  Iness,  why 
not  attempt  to  lead  Jeanne  through  an  Iness 
landscape?  The  Bastien  Le  Page  trees  are  in 
France.  But  here  is  an  American  world  in 
which  one  could  see  visions  and  hear  voices. 
Where  is  the  inspired  camera  that  will  record 
something  of  what  Iness  beheld  ? 

Thus  much  for  the  atmosphere  and  trap- 
pings of  our  Jeanne  d'Arc  scenario.  Where 
will  we  get  our  story  .^  It  should,  of  course, 
be  written  from  the  ground  up  for  this  pro- 
duction, but  as  good  Americans  we  would 
probably  find  a  mass  of  suggestions  in  Mark 
Twain's  Joan  of  Arc. 

Quite  recently  a  moving  picture  company 
sent  its  photographers  to  Springfield,  Illinois, 
and  produced  a  story  with  our  city  for  a  back- 
ground, using  our  social  set  for  actors.  Backed 
by  the  local  commercial  association  for  whose 
benefit  the  thing  was  made,  the  resources  of 
the  place  were  at  the  command  of  routine  pro- 
ducers. Springfield  dressed  its  best,  and  acted 
with  fair  skill.  The  heroine  was  a  charming 
debutant,  the  hero  the  son  of  Governor  Dunne. 
The  Mine  Owner's  Daughter  was  at  best  a 
mediocre  photoplay.  But  this  type  of  social- 
artistic  event,  that  happened  once,  may  be  at- 


ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION         147 

tempted  a  hundred  times,  each  time  slowly 
improving.  Which  brings  us  to  something  that 
is  in  the  end  very  far  from  The  Mine  Owner's 
Daughter.  By  what  scenario  method  the  fol- 
lowing film  or  series  of  films  is  to  be  produced  I 
will  not  venture  to  say.  No  doubt  the  way  will 
come  if  once  the  dream  has  a  sufficient  hold. 

I  have  long  maintained  that  my  home- 
town should  have  a  goddess  like  Athena.  The 
legend  should  be  forthcoming.  The  producer, 
while  not  employing  armies,  should  use  many 
actors  and  the  tale  be  told  with  the  same 
power  with  which  the  productions  of  Judith  of 
Bethulia  and  The  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Re- 
public were  evolved.  While  the  following  story 
may  not  be  the  form  which  Springfield  civic 
religion  will  ultimately  take,  it  is  here  recorded 
as  a  second  cousin  of  the  dream  that  I  hope 
will  some  day  be  set  forth. 

Late  in  an  afternoon  in  October,  a  light  is 
seen  in  the  zenith  like  a  dancing  star.  The 
clouds  form  round  it  in  the  approximation  of 
a  circle.  Now  there  becomes  visible  a  group 
of  heads  and  shoulders  of  presences  that  are 
looking  down  through  the  ring  of  clouds,  watch- 
ing the  star,  like  giant  children  that  peep  down 
a  well.     The  jewel  descends  by  four  sparkling 


148    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

chains,  so  far  away  they  look  to  be  dewy  threads 
of  silk.  As  the  bright  mystery  grows  larger  it 
appears  to  be  approaching  the  treeless  hill  of 
Washington  Park,  a  hill  that  is  surrounded  by 
many  wooded  ridges.  The  people  come  run- 
ning from  everywhere  to  watch.  Here  indeed 
will  be  a  Crowd  Picture  with  as  many  phases  as 
a  stormy  ocean.  Flying  machines  appear  from 
the  Fair  Ground  north  of  the  city,  and  circle 
round  and  round  as  they  go  up,  trying  to  reach 
the  slowly  descending  plummet. 

At  last,  while  the  throng  cheers,  one  bird- 
man  has  attained  it.  He  brings  back  his 
message  that  the  gift  is  an  image,  covered 
loosely  with  a  wrapping  that  seems  to  be  of 
spun  gold.  Now  the  many  aviators  whirl 
round  the  descending  wonder,  like  seagulls 
playing  about  a  ship's  mast.  Soon,  amid  an 
awestruck  throng,  the  image  is  on  the  hillock. 
The  golden  chains,  and  the  giant  children  hold- 
ing them  there  above,  have  melted  into  threads 
of  mist  and  nothingness.  The  shining  wrap- 
ping falls  away.  The  people  look  upon  a  seated 
statue  of  marble  and  gold.  There  is  a  branch 
of  wrought-gold  maple  leaves  in  her  hands. 
Then  beside  the  image  is  a  fluttering  transfigured 


ARCHITECTURE-IN-MOTION         149 

presence  of  which  the  image  seems  to  be  a 
representation.  This  spirit,  carrying  a  living 
maple  branch  in  her  hand  says  to  the  people : 
"Men  and  Women  of  Springfield,  this  carving 
is  the  Lady  Springfield  sent  by  your  Lord  from 
Heaven.  Build  no  canopy  over  her.  Let  her 
ever  be  under  the  prairie-sky.  Do  her  per- 
petual honor."  The  messenger,  who  is  the  soul 
and  voice  of  Springfield,  fades  into  the  crowd, 
to  emerge  on  great  and  terrible  occasions. 

This  is  only  one  story.  Round  this  public 
event  let  the  photoplay  romancer  weave  what 
tales  of  private  fortune  he  will,  narratives 
bound  up  with  the  events  of  that  October  day, 
as  the  story  of  Nathan  and  Naomi  is  woven 
into  Judith  of  Bethulia. 

Henceforth  the  city  officers  are  secular 
priests  of  Our  Lady  Springfield.  Their  failure 
in  duty  is  a  profanation  of  her  name.  A  yearly 
pledge  of  the  first  voters  is  taken  in  her  presence 
like  the  old  Athenian  oath  of  citizenship.  The 
seasonal  pageants  march  to  the  statue's  feet, 
scattering  flowers.  The  important  outdoor  fes- 
tivals are  given  on  the  edge  of  her  hill.  All 
the  roads  lead  to  her  footstool.  Pilgrims  come 
from  the  Seven  Seas  to  look  upon  her  face 
that  is  carved  by  Invisible  Powers.     Moreover, 


150    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  living  messenger  that  is  her  actual  soul 
appears  in  dreams,  or  visions  of  the  open 
day,  when  the  days  are  dark  for  the  city, 
when  her  patriots  are  irresolute,  and  her  chil- 
dren are  put  to  shame.  This  spirit  with  the 
maple  branch  rallies  them,  leads  them  to  vic- 
tories like  those  that  were  won  of  old  in  the 
name  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  or  Pallas  Athena  herself. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THIRTY     DIFFERENCES     BETWEEN     THE     PHOTO- 
PLAYS AND   THE   STAGE 

The  stage  is  dependent  upon  three  lines  of 
tradition :  first,  that  of  Greece  and  Rome  that 
came  down  through  the  French.  Second,  the 
English  style,  ripened  from  the  miracle  play 
and  the  Shakespearian  stage.  And  third,  the 
Ibsen  precedent  from  Norway,  now  so  firmly 
established  it  is  classic.  These  methods  are 
obscured  by  the  commercialized  dramas,  but 
they  are  behind  them  all.  Let  us  discuss  for 
illustration  the  Ibsen  tradition. 

Ibsen  is  generally  the  vitriolic  foe  of  pageant. 
He  must  be  read  aloud.  He  stands  for  the 
spoken  word,  for  the  iron  power  of  life  that 
may  be  concentrated  in  a  phrase  like  the  *'A11 
or  nothing"  of  Brand.  Though  Peer  Gynt  has 
its  spectacular  side,  Ibsen  generally  comes  in 
through  the  ear  alone.  He  can  be  acted  in 
essentials  from  end  to  end  with  one  table  and 
four  chairs  in  any  parlor.  The  alleged  punch 
with  which  the  "  movie  "  culminates  has  occurred 

151 


152    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

three  or  ten  years  before  the  Ibsen  curtain  goes 
up.  At  the  close  of  every  act  of  the  dramas  of 
this  Norwegian  one  might  inscribe  on  the  curtain 
"This  the  magnificent  moving  picture  cannot 
achieve."  Likewise  after  every  successful  film 
described  in  this  book  could  be  inscribed  "This 
the  trenchant  Ibsen  cannot  do." 

But  a  photoplay  of  Ghosts  came  to  our  town. 
The  humor  of  the  prospect  was  the  sort  too 
deep  for  tears.  My  pastor  and  I  reread  the 
William  Archer  translation  that  we  might  be 
alert  for  every  antithesis.  Together  we  went 
to  the  services.  Since  then  the  film  has  been 
furiously  denounced  by  the  literati.  Floyd 
Dell's  discriminating  assault  upon  it  is  quoted 
in  Current  Opinion,  October,  1915,  and  Margaret 
Anderson  prints  a  denunciation  of  it  in  a  recent 
number  of  The  Little  Review.  But  it  is  not 
such  a  bad  film  in  itself.  It  is  not  Ibsen.  It 
should  be  advertised  "The  Iniquities  of  the 
Fathers,  an  American  drama  of  Eugenics,  in  a 
Palatial  Setting." 

Henry  Walthall  as  Alving,  afterward  as  his 
son,  shows  the  men  much  as  Ibsen  outlines 
their  characters.  Of  course  the  only  way  to  be 
Ibsen  is  to  be  so  precisely.  In  the  new  plot  all 
is  open  as  the  day.     The  world  is  welcome,  and 


THE  CONTRAST  WITH  THE  STAGE    153 

generally  present  when  the  man  or  his  son  go 
forth  to  see  the  elephant  and  hear  the  owl. 
Provincial  hypocrisy  is  not  implied.  But 
Ibsen  can  scarcely  exist  without  an  atmosphere 
of  secrecy  for  his  human  volcanoes  to  burst 
through  in  the  end. 

Mary  Alden  as  Mrs.  Alving  shows  in  her 
intelligent  and  sensitive  countenance  that  she 
has  a  conception  of  that  character.  She  does 
not  always  have  the  chance  to  act  the  woman 
written  in  her  face,  the  tart,  thinking,  handsome 
creature  that  Ibsen  prefers.  Nigel  Debrullier 
looks  the  buttoned-up  pastor  Manders,  even  to 
caricature.  But  the  crawling,  bootlicking  car- 
penter, Jacob  Engstrand,  is  changed  into  a  re- 
spectable, guileless  man  with  an  income.  And 
his  wife  and  daughter  are  helpless,  conventional, 
upper-class  rabbits.  They  do  not  remind  one 
of  the  saucy  originals. 

The  original  Ibsen  Drama  is  the  result  of 
mixing  up  five  particular  characters  through 
three  acts.  There  is  not  a  situation  but 
would  go  to  pieces  if  one  personality  were 
altered.  Here  are  two,  sadly  tampered  with: 
Engstrand  and  his  daughter.  Here  is  the 
mother,  who  is  only  referred  to  in  Ibsen. 
Here  is  the  elder  Alving,   who   disappears  be- 


154    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

fore  the  original  play  starts.  So  the  twenty 
great  Ibsen  situations  in  the  stage  production 
are  gone.  One  new  crisis  has  an  Ibsen  irony 
and  psychic  tension.  The  boy  is  taken  with 
the  dreaded  intermittent  pains  in  the  back  of 
his  head.  He  is  painting  the  order  that  is  to 
make  him  famous  :  the  King's  portrait.  While 
the  room  empties  of  people  he  writhes  on  the 
floor.  If  this  were  all,  it  would  have  been  one 
more  moving  picture  failure  to  put  through  a 
tragic  scene.  But  the  thing  is  reiterated  in 
tableau-symbol.  He  is  looking  sideways  in 
terror.  A  hairy  arm  with  clutching  demon 
claws  comes  thrusting  in  toward  the  back  of 
his  neck.  He  writhes  in  deadly  fear.  The 
audience  is  appalled  for  him. 

This  visible  clutch  of  heredity  is  the  nearest 
equivalent  that  is  offered  for  the  whispered 
refrain  :  "  Ghosts,"  in  the  original  masterpiece. 
This  hand  should  also  be  reiterated  as  a  re- 
frain, three  times  at  least,  before  this  tableau, 
each  time  more  dreadful  and  threatening.  It 
appears  but  the  once,  and  has  no  chance 
to  become  a  part  of  the  accepted  hieroglyphics 
of  the  piece,  as  it  should  be,  to  realize  its  full 
power. 

The  father's  previous  sins  have  been  acted  out. 


THE  CONTRAST  WITH  THE  STAGE    155 

The  boy's  consequent  struggle  with  the  malady 
has  been  traced  step  by  step,  so  the  play 
should  end  here.  It  would  then  be  a  rough 
equivalent  of  the  Ibsen  irony  in  a  contrary  me- 
dium. Instead  of  that,  it  wanders  on  through 
paraphrases  of  scraps  of  the  play,  sometimes 
literal,  then  quite  alien,  on  to  the  alleged  motion 
picture  punch,  when  the  Doctor  is  the  god  from 
the  machine.  There  is  no  doctor  on  the  stage 
in  the  original  Ghosts.  But  there  is  a  physician 
in  the  Doll's  House,  a  scientific,  quietly  moving 
oracle,  crisp,  Spartan,  sophisticated. 

Is  this  photoplay  physician  such  a  one? 
The  boy  and  his  half-sister  are  in  their  wedding- 
clothes  in  the  big  church.  Pastor  Manders 
is  saying  the  ceremony.  The  audience  and 
building  are  indeed  showy.  The  doctor  charges 
up  the  aisle  at  the  moment  people  are  told  to 
speak  or  forever  hold  their  peace.  He  has  tact. 
He  simply  breaks  up  the  marriage  right  there. 
He  does  not  tell  the  guests  why.  But  he 
takes  the  wedding  party  into  the  pastor's 
study  and  there  blazes  at  the  bride  and  groom 
the  long-suppressed  truth  that  they  are  brother 
and  sister.  Always  an  orotund  man,  he  has 
the  Chautauqua  manner  indeed  in  this  exi- 
gency. 


156    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

He  brings  to  one's  mind  the  tearful  book, 
much  loved  in  childhood,  Parted  at  the  Altar, 
or  Why  Was  it  Thus?  And  four  able  actors 
have  the  task  of  telling  the  audience  by  facial 
expression  only,  that  they  have  been  struck  by 
moral  lightning.  They  stand  in  a  row,  fac- 
ing the  people,  endeavoring  to  make  the  crisis 
of  an  alleged  Ibsen  play  out  of  a  crashing 
melodrama. 

The  final  death  of  young  Alving  is  depicted 
with  an  approximation  of  Ibsen's  mood.  But 
the  only  ways  to  suggest  such  feelings  in 
silence,  do  not  convey  them  in  full  to  the 
audience,  but  merely  narrate  them.  Wherever 
in  Ghosts  we  have  quiet  voices  that  are  like  the 
slow  drip  of  hydrochloric  acid,  in  the  photoplay 
we  have  no  quiet  gestures  that  will  do  trenchant 
work.  Instead  there  are  endless  writhings  and 
rushings  about,  done  with  a  deal  of  skill,  but 
destructive  of  the  last  remnants  of  Ibsen. 

Up  past  the  point  of  the  clutching  hand  this 
film  is  the  prime  example  for  study  for  the 
person  who  would  know  once  for  all  the  dif- 
ferences between  the  photoplays  and  the  stage 
dramas.  Along  with  it  might  be  classed  Mrs. 
Fiske's  decorative  moving  picture  Tess,  in 
which  there  is  every  determination  to  convey 


THE  CONTRAST  WITH  THE  STAGE    157 

the  original  Mrs.  Fiske  illusion  without  her 
voice  and  breathing  presence.  To  people  who 
know  her  well  it  is  a  surprisingly  good  tintype 
of  our  beloved  friend,  for  the  family  album. 
The  relentless  Thomas  Hardy  is  nowhere 
to  be  found.  There  are  two  moments  of 
dramatic  life  set  among  many  of  delicious 
pictorial  quality :  when  Tess  baptizes  her 
child,  and  when  she  smooths  its  little  grave 
with  a  wavering  hand.  But  in  the  stage- ver- 
sion the  dramatic  poignancy  begins  with  the 
going  up  of  the  curtain,  and  lasts  till  it  descends. 

The  prime  example  of  complete  failure  is 
Sarah  Bernhardt's  Camille.  It  is  indeed  a 
tintype  of  the  consumptive  heroine,  with  every 
group  entire,  and  taken  at  full  length.  Much 
space  is  occupied  by  the  floor  and  the  over- 
head portions  of  the  stage  setting.  It  lasts  as 
long  as  would  the  spoken  performance,  and 
wherever  there  is  a  dialogue  we  must  imagine 
said  conversation  if  we  can.  It  might  be  com- 
pared to  watching  Camille  from  the  top  gallery 
through  smoked  glass,  with  one's  ears  stopped 
with  cotton. 

It  would  be  well  for  the  beginning  student  to 
find  some  way  to  see  the  first  two  of  these 
three,  or  some  other  attempts  to  revamp  the 


158    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

classic,  for  instance  Mrs.  Fiske's  painstaking 
reproduction  of  Vanity  Fair,  bearing  in  mind 
the  list  of  differences  which  this  chapter  now 
furnishes. 

There  is  no  denying  that  many  stage  man- 
agers who  have  taken  up  photoplays  are  strug- 
gling with  the  Shakespearian  French  and  Nor- 
wegian traditions  in  the  new  medium.  Many 
of  the  moving  pictures  discussed  in  this  book 
are  rewritten  stage  dramas,  and  one,  Judith 
of  Bethulia,  is  a  pronounced  success.  But  in 
order  to  be  real  photoplays  the  stage  dramas 
must  be  overhauled  indeed,  turned  inside  out 
and  upside  down.  The  successful  motion  pic- 
ture expresses  itself  through  mechanical  devices 
that  are  being  evolved  every  hour.  Upon 
those  many  new  bits  of  machinery  are  founded 
novel  methods  of  combination  in  another  field 
of  logic,  not  dramatic  logic,  but  tableau  logic. 
But  the  old-line  managers,  taking  up  photoplays, 
begin  by  making  curious  miniatures  of  stage 
presentations.  They  try  to  have  most  things  as 
before.  Later  they  take  on  the  moving  picture 
technique  in  a  superficial  way,  but  they,  and 
the  host  of  talented  actors  in  the  prime  of  life 
and  Broadway  success,  retain  the  dramatic 
state  of  mind. 


THE  CONTRAST   WITH  THE  STAGE    159 

It  is  a  principle  of  criticism,  the  world  over, 
that  the  distinctions  between  the  arts  must  be 
clearly  marked,  even  by  those  who  afterwards 
mix  those  arts.  Take,  for  instance,  the  perpet- 
ual quarrel  between  the  artists  and  the  half -edu- 
cated about  literary  painting.  Whistler  fought 
that  battle  in  England.  He  tried  to  beat  it 
into  the  head  of  John  Bull  that  a  painting  is 
one  thing,  a  mere  illustration  for  a  story  another 
thing.  But  the  novice  is  always  stubborn. 
To  him  Hindu  and  Arabic  are  both  foreign 
languages,  therefore  just  alike.  The  book 
illustration  may  be  said  to  come  in  through 
the  ear,  by  reading  the  title  aloud  in  imagina- 
tion. And  the  other  is  effective  with  no  title 
at  all.  The  scenario  writer  who  will  study  to 
the  bottom  of  the  matter  in  Whistler's  Gentle 
Art  of  Making  Enemies  will  be  equipped  to 
welcome  the  distinction  between  the  old-fash- 
ioned stage,  where  the  word  rules,  and  the  photo- 
play, where  splendor  and  ritual  are  all.  It  is 
not  the  same  distinction,  but  a  kindred  one. 

But  let  us  consider  the  details  of  the  matter. 
The  stage  has  its  exits  and  entrances  at  the 
side  and  back.  The  standard  photoplays  have 
their  exits  and  entrances  across  the  imaginary 


160    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

footlight  line,  even  in  the  most  stirring  mob 
and  battle  scenes.  In  Judith  of  Bethulia, 
though  the  people  seem  to  be  coming  from 
everywhere  and  going  everywhere,  when  we 
watch  close,  we  see  that  the  individuals  enter 
at  the  near  right-hand  corner  and  exit  at  the 
near  left-hand  corner,  or  enter  at  the  near 
left-hand  corner  and  exit  at  the  near  right- 
hand  corner. 

Consider  the  devices  whereby  the  stage  actor 
holds  the  audience  as  he  goes  out  at  the  side 
and  back.  He  sighs,  gestures,  howls,  and  strides. 
With  what  studious  preparation  he  ripens  his 
quietness,  if  he  goes  out  that  way.  In  the 
new  contraption,  the  moving  picture,  the  hero 
or  villain  in  exit  strides  past  the  nose  of  the 
camera,  growing  much  bigger  than  a  human 
being,  marching  toward  us  as  though  he  would 
step  on  our  heads,  disappearing  when  largest. 
There  is  an  explosive  power  about  the  mildest 
motion  picture  exit,  be  the  actor  skilful  or 
the  reverse.  The  people  left  in  the  scene  are 
pygmies  compared  with  each  disappearing 
Cyclops.  Likewise,  when  the  actor  enters  again, 
his  mechanical  importance  is  overwhelming. 
Therefore,  for  his  first  entrance  the  motion 
picture  star  does  not  require  the  preparations 


THE  CONTRAST  WITH  THE  STAGE    161 

that  are  made  on  the  stage.  The  support  does 
not  need  to  warm  the  spectators  to  the  problem, 
then  talk  them  into  surrender. 

When  the  veteran  stage-producer  as  a  begin- 
ning photoplay  producer  tries  to  give  us  a  dia- 
logue in  the  motion  pictures,  he  makes  it  so  dull 
no  one  follows.  He  does  not  realize  that  his  \ 
camera-born  opportunity  to  magnify  persons 
and  things  instantly,  to  interweave  them  as 
actors  on  one  level,  to  alternate  scenes  at  the 
slightest  whim,  are  the  big  substitutes  for  dia- 
logue. By  alternating  scenes  rapidly,  flash  after 
flash :  cottage,  field,  mountain-top,  field,  moun- 
tain-top, cottage,  we  have  a  conversation  between 
three  places  rather  than  three  persons.  By 
alternating  the  picture  of  a  man  and  the  check 
he  is  forging,  we  have  his  soliloquy.  When  two 
people  talk  to  each  other,  it  is  by  lifting  and 
lowering  objects  rather  than  their  voices.  The 
collector  presents  a  bill :  the  adventurer  shows 
him  the  door.  The  boy  plucks  a  rose :  the  girl 
accepts  it.  Moving  objects,  not  moving  lips, 
make  the  words  of  the  photoplay. 

The  old-fashioned  stage  producer,  feeling  he 
is  getting  nowhere,  but  still  helpless,  puts  the 
climax  of  some  puzzling  lip-debate,  often  the 
climax  of  the  whole  film,  as  a  sentence  on  the 


162    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

screen.  Sentences  should  be  used  to  show 
changes  of  time  and  place  and  a  few  such 
elementary  matters  before  the  episode  is  fully 
started.  The  climax  of  a  motion  picture  scene 
•cannot  be  one  word  or  fifty  words.  As  has  been 
discussed  in  connection  with  Cabiria,  the  cri- 
sis must  be  an  action  sharper  than  any  that  has 
gone  before  in  organic  union  with  a  tableau  more 
beautiful  than  any  that  has  preceded :  the  break- 
ing of  the  tenth  wave  upon  the  sand.  Such 
remnants  of  pantomimic  dialogue  as  remain  in 
the  main  chase  of  the  photoplay  film  are  but 
guide-posts  in  the  race  toward  the  goal.  They 
should  not  be  elaborate  toll-gates  of  plot,  to  be 
laboriously  lifted  and  lowered  while  the  horses 
stop,  mid-career. 

The  Venus  of  Milo,  that  comes  directly  to 
the  soul  through  the  silence,  requires  no  quota- 
tion from  Keats  to  explain  her,  though  Keats 
is  the  equivalent  in  verse.  Her  setting  in  the 
great  French  Museum  is  enough.  We  do  not 
know  that  her  name  is  Venus.  She  is  thought 
by  many  to  be  another  statue  of  Victory. 
We  may  some  day  evolve  scenarios  that  will 
require  nothing  more  than  a  title  thrown  upon 
the  screen  at  the  beginning,  they  come  to  the 
eye  so  perfectly.     This  is  not  the  only  possible 


THE  CONTRAST  WITH  THE  STAGE    163 

sort,  but  the  self-imposed  limitation  in  certain 
films  might  give  them  a  charm  akin  to  that  of 
the  Songs  without  Words. 

The  stage  audience  is  a  unit  of  three  hundred 
or  a  thousand.  In  the  beginning  of  the  first 
act  there  is  much  moving  about  and  extra 
talk  on  the  part  of  the  actors,  to  hold  the  crowd 
while  it  is  settling  down,  and  enable  the  late- 
comer to  be  in  his  seat  before  the  vital  part 
of  the  story  starts.  If  he  appears  later,  he 
is  glared  at.  In  the  motion  picture  art  gallery, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  audience  is  around  two 
hundred,  and  these  are  not  a  unit,  and  the  only 
crime  is  to  obstruct  the  line  of  vision.  The 
high-school  girls  can  do  a  moderate  amount  of 
giggling  without  breaking  the  spell.  There  is 
no  spell,  in  the  stage  sense,  to  break.  People 
can  climb  over  each  other's  knees  to  get  in  or 
out.  If  the  picture  is  political,  they  murmur 
war-cries  to  one  another.  If  the  film  suggests 
what  some  of  the  neighbors  have  been  doing, 
they  can  regale  each  other  with  the  richest 
sewing  society  report. 

The  people  in  the  motion  picture  audience 
total  about  two  hundred,  any  time,  but  they 
come  in  groups  of  two  or  three  at  no  specified 
hour.     The  newcomers  do  not,  as  in  Vaudeville, 


164    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

make  themselves  part  of  a  jocular  army. 
Strictly  as  individuals  they  judge  the  panorama. 
If  they  disapprove,  there  is  grumbling  under 
their  breath,  but  no  hissing.  I  have  never 
heard  an  audience  in  a  photoplay  theatre  clap 
its  hands  even  when  the  house  was  bursting 
with  people.  Yet  they  often  see  the  film 
through  twice.  When  they  have  had  enough, 
they  stroll  home.  They  manifest  their  favor- 
able verdict  by  sending  some  other  member  of 
the  family  to  "see  the  picture."  If  the  people 
so  delegated  are  likewise  satisfied,  they  may 
ask  the  man  at  the  door  if  he  is  going  to  bring 
it  back.  That  is  the  moving  picture  kind  of 
cheering. 

It  was  a  theatrical  sin  when  the  old-fashioned 
stage  actor  was  rendered  unimportant  by  his 
scenery.  But  the  motion  picture  actor  is  but 
the  mood  of  the  mob  or  the  landscape  or  the 
department  store  behind  him,  reduced  to  a 
single  hieroglyphic. 

The  stage-interior  is  large.  The  motion- 
picture  interior  is  small.  The  stage  out-of- 
door  scene  is  at  best  artificial  and  little  and  is 
generally  at  rest,  or  its  movement  is  tainted 
with  artificiality.  The  waves  dash,  but  not 
dashingly,  the  water  flows,  but  not  flowingly. 


THE  CONTRAST  WITH  THE   STAGE    165 

The  motion  picture  out-of-door  scene  is  as  big 
as  the  universe.  And  only  pictures  of  the 
Sahara  are  without  magnificent  motion. 

The  photoplay  is  as  far  from  the  stage  on  the 
one  hand  as  it  is  from  the  novel  on  the  other. 
Its  nearest  analogy  in  literature  is,  perhaps,  the 
short  story,  or  the  lyric  poem.  The  key- words 
of  the  stage  are  passion  and  character;  of 
the  photoplay,  splendor  and  speed.  The  stage 
in  its  greatest  power  deals  with  pity  for  some 
one  especially  unfortunate,  with  whom  we  grow 
well  acquainted;  with  some  private  revenge 
against  some  particular  despoiler;  traces  the 
beginning  and  culmination  of  joy  based  on  the 
gratification  of  some  preference,  or  love  for  some 
person,  whose  charm  is  all  his  own.  The  drama 
is  concerned  with  the  slow  inevitable  approaches 
to  these  intensities.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
motion  picture,  though  often  appearing  to  deal 
with  these  things,  as  a  matter  of  fact  uses 
substitutes,  many  of  which  have  been  listed. 
But  to  review :  its  first  substitute  is  the  excite- 
ment of  speed-mania  stretched  on  the  framework 
of  an  obvious  plot.  Or  it  deals  with  delicate 
informal  anecdote  as  the  short  story  does,  or 
fairy  legerdemain,  or  patriotic  banners,  or  great 
surging  mobs  of  the  proletariat,  or  big  scenic 


166    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

outlooks,  or  miraculous  beings  made  visible. 
And  the  further  it  gets  from  Euripides,  Ibsen, 
Shakespeare,  or  Moliere  —  the  more  it  becomes 
like  a  mural  painting  from  which  flashes  of 
lightning  come  —  the  more  it  realizes  its  genius. 
Men  like  Gordon  Craig  and  Granville  Barker 
are  almost  wasting  their  genius  on  the  theatre. 
The  Splendor  Photoplays  are  the  great  outlet 
for  their  type  of  imagination. 

The  typical  stage  performance  is  from  two 
hours  and  a  half  upward.  The  movie  show 
generally  lasts  five  reels,  that  is,  an  hour  and 
forty  minutes.  And  it  should  last  but  three 
reels,  that  is,  an  hour.  Edgar  Poe  said  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  a  long  poem.  There  is 
certainly  no  such  thing  as  a  long  moving  pic- 
ture masterpiece. 

The  stage-production  depends  most  largely 
upon  the  power  of  the  actors,  the  movie  show 
upon  the  genius  of  the  producer.  The  per- 
formers and  the  dumb  objects  are  on  equal 
terms  in  his  paint-buckets.  The  star-system  is 
bad  for  the  stage  because  the  minor  parts  are 
smothered  and  the  situations  distorted  to  give 
the  favorite  an  orbit.  It  is  bad  for  the  motion 
pictures  because  it  obscures  the  producer. 
While  the  leading  actor  is  entitled  to  his  glory. 


THE  CONTRAST  WITH  THE  STAGE    169 

original  of  Mrs.  Nickleby.  His  father  entered 
into  Wilkins  Micawber.  But  these  people  are 
not  perpetually  thrust  upon  us  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Dickens.  We  are  glad  to  find  them  in  the 
Dickens  biographies.  When  the  stories  begin, 
it  is  Micawber  and  Mrs.  Nickleby  we  want,  and 
the  Charles  Dickens  atmosphere. 

The  photoplays  of  the  future  will  be  writ- 
ten from  the  foundations  for  the  films. 
The  soundest  actors,  photographers,  and  pro- 
ducers will  be  those  who  emphasize  the  points 
wherein  the  photoplay  is  unique.  WTiat  is 
adapted  to  complete  expression  in  one  art 
generally  secures  but  half  expression  in  another. 
The  supreme  photoplay  will  give  us  things 
that  have  been  but  half  expressed  in  all  other 
mediums  allied  to  it. 

Once  this  principle  is  grasped  there  is  every 
reason  why  the  same  people  who  have  inter- 
ested themselves  in  the  advanced  experimental 
drama  should  take  hold  of  the  super-photo- 
play. The  good  citizens  who  can  most 
easily  grasp  the  distinction  should  be  there  to 
perpetuate  the  higher  welfare  of  these  institu- 
tions side  by  side.  This  parallel  develop- 
ment should  come,  if  for  no  other  reason,  because 
the  two  arts  are  still  roughly  classed  together 


170    THE  ART  OF  MOVING  THE  PICTURE 

by  the  public.  The  elect  cannot  teach  the 
public  what  the  drama  is  till  they  show  them 
precisely  what  the  photoplay  is  and  is  not. 
Just  as  the  university  has  departments  of  both 
History  and  English  teaching  in  amity,  each 
one  rlluminating  the  work  of  the  other,  so  these 
two  forms  should  live  in  each  other's  sight  in 
fine  and  friendly  contrast.  At  present  they 
are  in  blind  and  jealous  warfare. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HIEROGLYPHICS 

I  HAVE  read  this  chapter  to  a  pretty  neighbor 
who  has  approved  of  the  preceding  portions  of 
the  book,  whose  mind,  therefore,  I  cannot  but 
respect.  My  neighbor  classes  this  discussion 
of  hieroglyphics  as  a  fanciful  flight  rather 
than  a  sober  argument.  I  submit  the  verdict, 
then  struggle  against  it  while  you  read. 

The  invention  of  the  photoplay  is  as  great 
a  step  as  was  the  beginning  of  picture-writing 
in  the  stone  age.  And  the  cave-men  and 
women  of  our  slums  seem  to  be  the  people  most 
affected  by  this  novelty,  which  is  but  an  ex- 
pression of  the  old  in  that  spiral  of  life  which  is 
going  higher  while  seeming  to  repeat  the  an- 
cient phase. 

There  happens  to  be  here  on  the  table  a 
book  on  Egypt  by  Rawlinson  that  I  used  to 
thumb  long  ago.  A  footnote  says  :  "The  font 
of  hieroglyphic  type  used  in  this  work  contains 
eight  hundred  forms.    But  there  are  many  other 

171 


172    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

forms  beside."  There  is  more  light  on  Egypt  in 
later  works  than  in  Rawlinson,  but  the  state- 
ment quoted  will  serve  for  our  text. 

Several  complex  methods  of  making  visible 
scenarios  are  listed  in  this  work.  Here  is  one 
that  is  mechanically  simple.  Let  the  man  search- 
ing for  tableau  combinations,  even  if  he  is  of 
the  practical  commercial  type,  prepare  himself 
with  eight  hundred  signs  from  Egypt.  He  can 
construct  the  outlines  of  his  scenarios  by  placing 
these  little  pictures  in  rows.  It  may  not  be 
impractical  to  cut  his  hundreds  of  them  from 
black  cardboard  and  shuffle  them  on  his  table 
every  morning.  The  list  will  contain  all  ele- 
mentary and  familiar  things.  Let  him  first 
give  the  most  literal  meaning  to  the  patterns. 
Then  if  he  desires  to  rise  above  the  commercial 
field,  let  him  turn  over  each  cardboard,  making 
the  white  undersurface  uppermost,  and  there 
write  a  more  abstract  meaning  of  the  hiero- 
glyphic, one  that  has  a  fairly  close  relation  to  his 
way  of  thinking  about  the  primary  form.  From 
a  proper  balance  of  primary  and  secondary 
meanings  photoplays  with  souls  could  come. 
Not  that  he  must  needs  become  an  expert 
Egyptologist.  Yet  it  would  profit  any  photo- 
play man  to  study  to  think  like  the  Egyptians, 


HIEROGLYPHICS  173 

the  great  picture-writing  people.  There  is  as 
much  reason  for  this  course  as  for  the  Bible 
student's  apprenticeship  in  Hebrew. 

Hieroglyphics  can  prove  their  worth,  even 
without  the  help  of  an  Egyptian  history. 
Humorous  and  startling  analogies  can  be 
pointed  out  by  opening  the  Standard  Diction- 
ary, page  fifty-nine.  Look  under  the  word 
alphabet.  There  is  the  diagram  of  the  evolu- 
tion of  inscriptions  from  the  Egyptian  and 
Phoenician  idea  of  what  letters  should  be,  on 
through  the  Greek  and  Roman  systems. 

In  the  Egyptian  row  is  the  picture  of  a 
throne,  ^  that  has  its  equivalent  in  the  Roman 
letter  C.  And  a  throne  has  as  much  place  in 
what  might  be  called  the  moving-picture 
alphabet  as  the,  letter  C  has  in  ours.  There 
are  sometimes  three  thrones  in  this  small  town 
of  Springfield  in  an  evening.  When  you  see 
one  flashed  on  the  screen,  you  know  instantly 
you  are  dealing  with  royalty  or  its  implications. 
The  last  one  I  saw  that  made  any  particular  im- 
pression was  when  Mary  Pickf ord  acted  in  Such 
a  Little  Queen.  I  only  wished  then  that  she  had 
a  more  convincing  throne.  Let  us  cut  one  out 
of  black  cardboard.  Turning  the  cardboard 
over  to  write  on  it  the  spirit-meaning,  we  in- 


174    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

scribe  some  such  phrase  as  The  Throne  of 
Wisdom  or  The  Throne  of  Liberty. 

Here  is  the  hieroglyphic  of  a  hand:  4|||i» 
Roman  equivalent,  the  letter  D.  The  human 
hand,  magnified  till  it  is  as  big  as  the  whole 
screen,  is  as  useful  in  the  moving  picture  al- 
phabet as  the  letter  D  in  the  printed  alphabet. 
This  hand  may  open  a  lock.  It  may  pour 
poison  in  a  bottle.  It  may  work  a  telegraph 
key.  Then  turning  the  white  side  of  the  card- 
board uppermost  we  inscribe  something  to  the 
effect  that  this  hand  may  write  on  the  wall, 
as  at  the  feast  of  Belshazzar.  Or  it  may  rep- 
resent some  such  conception  as  Rodin's  Hand 
of  God,  discussed  in  the  Sculpture-in-motion 
chapter. 

Here  is  a  duck :  gtf  Roman  equivalent,  the 
letter  Z.  In  the  motion  pictures  this  bird, 
a  somewhat  z-shaped  animal,  suggests  the 
finality  of  Arcadian  peace.  It  is  the  last 
and  fittest  ornament  of  the  mill-pond.  Noth- 
ing very  terrible  can  happen  with  a  duck  in  the 
foreground.  There  is  no  use  turning  it  over. 
It  would  take  Maeterlinck  or  Swedenborg  to 
find  the  mystic  meaning  of  a  duck.  A  duck 
looks  to  me  like  a  caricature  of  an  alder- 
man. 


HIEROGLYPHICS  175 

Here  is  a  sieve :    ^   Roman  equivalent,  H. 

A  sieve  placed  on  the  kitchen-table,  close-up, 
suggests  domesticity,  hired  girl  humors,  broad 
farce.  We  will  expect  the  bride  to  make  her 
first  cake,  or  the  flour  to  begin  to  fly  into  the 
face  of  the  intrusive  ice-man.  But,  as  to  the 
other  side  of  the  cardboard,  the  sieve  has  its 
place  in  higher  symbolism.  It  has  been  re- 
corded by  many  a  sage  and  singer  that  the 
Almighty  Powers  sift  men  like  wheat. 

Here  is  the  picture  of  a  bowl :  "^iVMP^ 
Roman  equivalent,  the  letter  K.  A  bowl 
seen  through  the  photoplay  window  on  the 
cottage  table  suggests  Johnny's  early  supper 
of  bread  and  milk.  But  as  to  the  white  side 
of  the  cardboard,  out  of  a  bowl  of  kindred 
form  Omar  may  take  his  moonlit  wine,  or 
the  higher  gods  may  lift  up  the  very  wine  of 
time  to  the  lips  of  men,  as  Swinburne  sings  in 
Atlanta  in  Calydon. 

Here  is  a  lioness  :  Jtttlk  Roman  equivalent, 
the  letter  L.  The  lion  or  lioness  creeps  through 
the  photoplay  jungle  to  give  the  primary 
picture-word  of  terror  in  this  new  universal 
alphabet.  The  present  writer  has  seen 
several  valuable  lions  unmistakably  shot  and 
killed  in  the  motion  pictures,  and  charged  up 


176    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

to  profit  and  loss,  just  as  steam-engines  or 
houses  are  sometimes  blown  up  or  burned  down. 
But  of  late  there  is  a  disposition  to  use  the 
trained  lion  (or  lioness)  for  all  sorts  of  effects. 
No  doubt  the  king  and  queen  of  beasts  will 
become  as  versatile  and  humbly  useful  as  the 
letter  L  itself :  that  is,  in  the  commonplace 
routine  photoplay.  We  turn  the  cardboard  over 
and  the  lion  becomes  a  resource  of  glory  and 
terror,  a  symbol  of  cruel  persecutions  or  death- 
less courage,  sign  of  the  zodiac  that  Poe  in 
Ulalume  calls  the  Lair  of  the  Lion. 

Here  is  an  owl :  ^  Roman  equivalent,  the 
letter  M.  The  only  use  of  the  owl  I  can 
record  is  to  be  inscribed  on  the  white  surface. 
In  The  Avenging  Conscience,  as  described  in 
chapter  ten,  the  murderer  marks  the  ticking 
of  the  heart  of  his  victim  while  watching  the 
swinging  of  the  pendulum  of  the  old  clock,  then 
in  watching  the  tapping  of  the  detective's 
pencil  on  the  table,  then  in  the  tapping  of 
his  foot  on  the  floor.  Finally  a  handsome  owl 
is  shown  in  the  branches  outside  hoot-hooting 
in  time  with  the  action  of  the  pencil,  and  the 
pendulum,  and  the  dead  man's  heart. 

But  here  is  a  wonderful  thing,  an  actual  pic- 
ture that  has  lived  on,  retaining  its   ancient 


HIEROGLYPHICS  177 


imitative  sound  and  form :  ^^^^^^^^^  the 
letter  N,  the  drawing  of  a  wave,  with  the  sound 
of  a  wave  still  within  it.  One  could  well  im- 
agine the  Nile  in  the  winds  of  the  dawn  making 
such  a  sound  :  "NN,  N,  N,"  lapping  at  the  reeds 
upon  its  banks.  Certainly  the  glittering  water 
scenes  are  a  dominant  part  of  moving  picture 
Esperanto.  On  the  white  reverse  of  the  sym- 
bol, the  spiritual  meaning  of  water  will  range 
from  the  metaphor  of  the  purity  of  the  dew  to 
the  sea  as  a  sign  of  infinity. 

Here  is  a  window  with  closed  shutters:  U 

Latin  equivalent,  the  letter  P.  It  is  a  reminder 
of  the  technical  outline  of  this  book.  The 
Intimate  Photoplay,  as  I  have  said,  is  but  a 
window  where  we  open  the  shutters  and  peep 
into  some  one's  cottage.  As  to  the  soul 
meaning  in  the  opening  or  closing  of  the 
shutters,  it  ranges  from  Noah's  opening  the 
hatches  to  send  forth  the  dove,  to  the  promises 
of  blessing  when  the  Windows  of  Heaven  should 
be  opened. 
^  Here  is  the  picture  of  an  angle :     JM  Latin 

equivalent,  Q.  This  is  another  reminder  of  the 
technical  outline.  The  photoplay  interior,  as 
has  been  reiterated,  is  small  and  three-cornered. 

N 


178    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Here  the  heroine  does  her  plotting,  flirting,  and 
primping,  etc.  I  will  leave  the  spiritual  inter- 
pretation of  the  angle  to  Emerson,  Swedenborg, 
or  Maeterlinck. 

Here  is  the  picture  of  a  mouth  :  ^flHP^  Latin 
equivalent,  the  letter  R.  If  we  turn  from  the 
dictionary  to  the  monuments,  we  will  see  that 
the  Egyptians  used  all  the  human  features  in 
their  pictures.  We  do  not  separate  the  features 
as  frequently  as  did  that  ancient  people,  but  we 
conventionalize  them  as  often.  Nine-tenths  of 
the  actors  have  faces  as  fixed  as  the  masks  of 
the  Greek  chorus  :  they  have  the  hero-mask  with 
the  protruding  chin,  the  villain-frown,  the  come- 
dian-grin, the  fixed  innocent-girl  simper.  These 
formulas  have  their  place  in  the  broad  effects 
of  Crowd  Pictures  and  in  comedies.  Then  there 
are  sudden  abandonments  of  the  mask.  Grif- 
fith's pupils  Henry  Walthall  and  Blanche  Sweet 
seem  to  me  to  be  the  greatest  people  in  the  photo- 
plays :  for  one  reason  their  faces  are  as  sensitive 
to  changing  emotion  as  the  surfaces  of  fair  lakes 
in  the  wind.  There  is  a  passage  in  Enoch  Arden 
where  Annie,  impersonated  by  Lillian  Gish,  an- 
other pupil  of  GrijQSth,  is  waiting  in  suspense 
for  the  return  of  her  husband.  She  changes 
from  lips  of  waiting,  with  a  touch  of  appre- 


HIEROGLYPHICS  179 

hension,  to  a  delighted  laugh  of  welcome,  her 
head  making  a  half -turn  toward  the  door. 
The  audience  is  so  moved  by  the  beauty  of  the 
slow  change  they  do  not  know  whether  her  face 
is  the  size  of  the  screen  or  the  size  of  a  postage- 
stamp.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  fills  the  whole 
end  of  the  theatre. 

Thus  much  as  to  faces  that  are  not  hiero- 
glyphics. Yet  fixed  facial  hieroglyphics  have 
many  legitimate  uses.  For  instance  in  The 
Avenging  Conscience,  as  the  play  works  toward 
the  climax  and  the  guilty  man  is  breaking  down, 
the  eye  of  the  detective  is  thrown  on  the  screen 
with  all  else  hid  in  shadow,  a  watching,  re- 
lentless eye.  And  this  suggests  a  special  talis- 
man of  the  old  Egyptians,  a  sign  called  the 
Eyes  of  Horus,  meaning  the  all-beholding  sun. 

Here  is  the  picture  of  an  inundated  garden : 
2^lijj^  Latin  equivalent,  the  letter  S.  In  our 
photoplays  the  garden  is  an  ever-present  re- 
source, and  at  an  instant's  necessity  suggests 
the  glory  of  nature,  or  sweet  privacy,  and 
kindred  things.  The  Egyptian  lotus  garden  had 
to  be  inundated  to  be  a  success.  Ours  needs 
but  the  hired  man  with  the  hose,  who  some- 
times supplies  broad  comedy.  But  we  turn  over 
the  cardboard,  for  the  deeper  meaning  of  this 


180    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

hieroglyphic.  Our  gardens  can,  as  of  old,  run 
the  solemn  range  from  those  of  Babylon  to  those 
of  the  Resurrection. 

If  there  is  one  sceptic  left  as  to  the  hiero- 
glyphic significance  of  the  photoplay,  let  him 
now  be  discomfited  by  page  fifty -nine.  Standard 
Dictionary.  The  last  letter  in  this  list  is  a 
lasso:  ^.  The  equivalent  of  the  lasso  in 
the  Roman  alphabet  is  the  letter  T.  The 
crude  and  facetious  would  be  apt  to  suggest 
that  the  equivalent  of  the  lasso  in  the  photo- 
play is  the  word  trouble,  possibly  for  the  hero, 
but  probably  for  the  villain.  We  turn  to  the 
other  side  of  the  symbol.  The  noose  may  stand 
for  solemn  judgment  and  the  hangman,  it  may 
also  symboHze  the  snare  of  the  fowler,  tempta- 
tion. Then  there  is  the  spider  web,  close  kin, 
representing  the  cruelty  of  evolution,  in  The 
Avenging  Conscience. 

This  list  is  based  on  the  rows  of  hieroglyphics 
most  readily  at  hand.  Any  volume  on  Egypt, 
such  as  one  of  those  by  Maspero,  has  a  multitude 
of  suggestions  for  the  man  inclined  to  the  idea. 

If  this  system  of  pasteboard  scenarios  is 
taken  literally,  I  would  like  to  suggest  as  a 
beginning  rule  that  in  a  play  based  on  twenty 
hieroglyphics,    nineteen    should   be  the  black 


HIEROGLYPHICS  181 

realistic  signs  with  obvious  meanings,  and  only 
one  of  them  white  and  inexplicably  strange.  It 
has  been  proclaimed  further  back  in  this  treatise 
that  there  is  only  one  witch  in  every  wood. 
And  to  illustrate  further,  there  is  but  one 
scarlet  letter  in  Hawthorne's  story  of  that  name, 
but  one  wine-cup  in  all  of  Omar,  one  Bluebird 
in  Maeterlinck's  play. 

I  do  not  insist  that  the  prospective  author- 
producer  adopt  the  hieroglyphic  method  as  a 
routine,  if  he  but  consents  in  his  meditative 
hours  to  the  point  of  view  that  it  implies. 

The  more  fastidious  photoplay  audience 
that  uses  the  hieroglyphic  hypothesis  in  an- 
alyzing the  film  before  it,  will  acquire  a  new 
tolerance  and  understanding  of  the  avalanche 
of  photoplay  conceptions,  and  find  a  promise 
of  beauty  in  what  have  been  properly  classed 
as  mediocre  and  stereotyped  productions. 

The  nineteenth  chapter  has  a  discourse  on 
the  Book  of  the  Dead.  As  a  connecting  link 
with  that  chapter  the  reader  will  note  that  one 
of  the  marked  things  about  the  Egyptian  wall- 
paintings,  pictures  on  the  mummy-case  wrap- 
pings, papyrus  inscriptions,  and  architectural 
conceptions,  is  that  they  are  but  enlarged 
hieroglyphics,  while  the  hieroglyphics  are  but 


182    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

reduced  fac-similes  of  these.  So  when  a  few 
characters  are  once  understood,  the  highly 
colored  Egyptian  wall-paintings  of  the  same 
things  are  understood.  The  hieroglyphic  of 
Osiris  is  enlarged  when  they  desire  to  represent 
him  in  state.  The  hieroglyphic  of  the  soul  as 
a  human-headed  hawk  may  be  in  a  line  of  writ- 
ing no  taller  than  the  capitals  of  this  book. 
Immediately  above  may  be  a  big  painting  of 
the  soul,  the  same  hawk  placed  with  the  proper 
care  with  reference  to  its  composition  on  the 
wall,  a  pure  decoration. 

The  transition  from  reduction  to  enlargement 
and  back  again  is  as  rapid  in  Egypt  as  in  the 
photoplay.  It  follows,  among  other  things,  that 
in  Egypt,  as  in  China  and  Japan,  literary  style 
and  mere  penmanship  and  brushwork  are  to 
be  conceived  as  inseparable.  No  doubt  the 
Egyptian  scholar  was  the  man  who  could  not 
only  compose  a  poem,  but  write  it  down  with 
a  brush.  Talent  for  poetry,  deftness  in  inscrib- 
ing, and  skill  in  mural  painting  were  probably 
gifts  of  the  same  person.  The  photoplay  goes 
back  to  this  primitive  union  in  styles. 

The  stages  from  hieroglyphics  through  Phoe- 
nician and  Greek  letters  to  ours,  are  of  no  par- 
ticular interest  here.     But  the  fact  that  hiero- 


HIEROGLYPHICS  18S 

glyphics  can  evolve  is  important.  Let  us  hope 
that  our  new  picture-alphabets  can  take  on 
richness  and  significance,  as  time  goes  on,  with- 
out losing  their  literal  values.  They  may 
develop  into  something  more  all-pervading, 
yet  more  highly  wrought,  than  any  written 
speech.  Languages  when  they  evolve  produce 
stylists,  and  we  will  some  day  distinguish  the 
different  photoplay  masters  as  we  now  delight 
in  the  separate  tang  of  O.  Henry  and  Mark 
Twain  and  Howells.  When  these  are  ancient 
times,  we  will  have  scholars  and  critics  learned 
in  the  flavors  of  early  moving  picture  tradi- 
tions with  their  histories  of  movements  and 
schools,  their  grammars,  and  anthologies. 

Now  some  words  as  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  lan- 
guage and  its  relation  to  pictures.  In  England 
and  America  our  plastic  arts  are  but  beginning. 
Yesterday  we  were  preeminently  a  word-civiliza- 
tion. England  built  her  mediaeval  cathedrals, 
but  they  left  no  legacy  among  craftsmen.  Art 
had  to  lean  on  imported  favorites  like  Van 
Dyke  till  the  days  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and  the 
founding  of  the  Royal  Society.  Consider  that 
the  friends  of  Reynolds  were  of  the  circle  of 
Doctor  Johnson.  Literary  tradition  had  grown 
old.     Then  England  had  her  beginning  of  land- 


184    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

scape  gardening.  Later  she  saw  the  rise  of 
Constable,  Ruskin,  and  Turner,  and  their  ir- 
idescent successors.  Still  to-day  in  England 
the  average  leading  citizen  matches  word 
against  word,  —  using  them  as  algebraic  for- 
mulas, —  rather  than  picture  against  picture, 
when  he  arranges  his  thoughts  under  the  eaves 
of  his  mind.  To  step  into  the  Art  world  is  to 
step  out  of  the  beaten  path  of  British  dreams. 
Shakespeare  is  still  king,  not  Rossetti,  nor 
yet  Christopher  Wren.  Moreover,  it  was  the 
book-reading  colonial  who  led  our  rebellion 
against  the  very  royalty  that  founded  the 
Academy.  The  public-speaking  American  wrote 
the  Declaration  of  Independence.  It  was  not 
the  work  of  the  painting  or  cathedral-building 
Englishman.  We  were  led  by  Patrick  Henry, 
the  orator,  Benjamin  Franklin,  the  printer. 

The  more  characteristic  America  became,  the 
less  she  had  to  do  with  the  plastic  arts.  The 
emigrant-train  carried  many  a  Bible  and  Dic- 
tionary packed  in  beside  the  guns  and  axes. 
It  carried  the  Elizabethan  writers,  ^Esop's 
Fables,  Blackstone's  Commentaries,  the  re- 
vised statutes  of  Indiana,  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  Parson  Weems'  Life  of  Washington. 
But,  obviously,  there  was  no  place  for  the  Elgin 


HIEROGLYPHICS  185 

marbles.  Giotto's  tower  could  not  be  loaded 
in  with  the  dried  apples  and  the  seedcorn. 

Yesterday  morning,  though  our  arts  were 
growing  every  day,  we  were  still  more  of  a 
word-civilization  than  the  English.  Our  ar- 
chitectural, painting,  and  sculptural  history  is 
concerned  with  men  now  living,  or  their  imme- 
diate predecessors.  And  even  such  work  as 
we  have  is  pretty  largely  a  cult  by  the  wealthy. 
This  is  the  more  a  cause  for  misgiving  because, 
in  a  democracy,  the  arts,  like  the  political 
parties,  are  not  founded  till  they  have  touched 
the  county  chairman,  the  ward  leader,  the 
individual  voter.  The  museums  in  a  democracy 
should  go  as  far  as  the  public  libraries.  Every 
town  has  its  library.  There  are  not  twenty 
Art  museums  in  the  land. 

Here  then  comes  the  romance  of  the  photo- 
play. A  tribe  that  has  thought  in  words  since 
the  days  that  it  worshipped  Thor  and  told 
legends  of  the  cunning  of  the  tongue  of  Loki, 
suddenly  begins  to  think  in  pictures.  The 
leaders  of  the  people,  and  of  culture,  scarcely 
know  the  photoplay  exists.  But  in  the  remote 
villages  the  players  mentioned  in  this  work 
are  as  well  known  and  as  fairly  understood 
in  their  general  psychology  as  any  candidates 


186    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

for  president  bearing  political  messages.  There 
is  many  a  babe  in  the  proletariat  not  over 
four  years  old  who  has  received  more  pic- 
tures into  its  eye  than  it  has  had  words  enter 
its  ear.  The  young  couple  go  with  their  first- 
born and  it  sits  gaping  on  its  mother's  knee. 
Often  the  images  are  violent  and  unseemly,  a 
chaos  of  rawness  and  squirm,  but  scattered 
through  the  experience  is  a  delineation  of  the 
world.  Pekin  and  China,  Harvard  and  Mas- 
sachusetts, Portland  and  Oregon,  Benares  and 
India,  become  imaginary  playgrounds.  By 
the  time  the  hopeful  has  reached  its  geog- 
raphy lesson  in  the  public  school  it  has  trav- 
elled indeed.  Almost  any  word  that  means  a 
picture  in  the  text  of  the  geography  or  history 
or  third  reader  is  apt  to  be  translated  uncon- 
sciously into  moving  picture  terms.  In  the 
next  decade,  simply  from  the  development  of 
the  average  eye,  cities  akin  to  the  beginnings  of 
[Florence  will  be  born  among  us  as  surely  as 
Chaucer  came,  upon  the  first  ripening  of  the 
English  tongue,  after  Csedmon  and  Beowulf. 
Sculptors,  painters,  architects,  and  park 
gardeners  who  now  have  their  followers  by 
the  hundreds  will  have  admirers  by  the  hun- 
dred thousand.     The  voters   will   respond  to 


HIEROGLYPHICS  187 

the  aspirations  of  these  artists  as  the  back- 
woodsmen followed  Poor  Richard's  Almanac, 
or  the  trappers  in  their  coon-skin  caps  were 
fired  to  patriotism  by  Patrick  Henry. 

This  ends  the  second  section  of  the  book. 
Were  it  not  for  the  passage  on  The  Battle 
Hymn  of  the  Republic,  the  chapters  thus  far 
might  be  entitled :  "an  open  letter  to  Griffith 
and  the  producers  and  actors  he  has  trained." 
Contrary  to  my  prudent  inclinations,  he  is 
the  star  of  the  piece,  except  on  one  page  where 
he  is  the  villain.  This  stardom  came  about 
slowly.  In  making  the  final  revision,  looking 
up  the  producers  of  the  important  reels,  espe- 
cially those  from  the  beginning  of  the  photo- 
play business,  numbers  of  times  the  photoplays 
have  turned  out  to  be  the  work  of  this  former 
leading  man  of  Nance  O'Neil. 

No  one  can  pretend  to  a  full  knowledge  of  the 
films.  They  come  faster  than  rain  in  April. 
It  would  take  a  man  every  day  of  the  year, 
working  day  and  night,  to  see  all  that  come  to 
Springfield.  But  in  the  photoplay  world,  as  I 
understand  it,  D.  W.  Griffith  is  the  king-figure. 

So  far,  in  this  work  I  have  endeavored  to  keep 
to  the  established  dogmas  of  Art.     I  hope  that 


/ 


188    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  main  lines  of  the  argument  will  appeal  to 
the  people  who  have  classified  and  related  the 
beautiful  works  of  man  that  have  preceded  the 
moving  pictures.  Let  the  reader  make  his  own 
essay  on  the  subject  for  the  local  papers  and  send 
the  clipping  to  me.  The  next  photoplay  book 
that  may  appear  from  this  hand  may  be  con- 
strued to  meet  his  point  of  view.  It  will  try  to 
agree  or  disagree  in  clear  language.  Many  a 
controversy  must  come  before  a  method  of  criti- 
cism is  fully  established. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

At  this  point  I  climb  from  the  oracular  plat- 
form and  go  down  through  my  own  chosen 
underbrush  for  haphazard  adventure.  I  re- 
nounce the  platform.  Whatever  it  may  be 
that  I  find,  pawpaw  or  may-apple  or  spray 
of  willow,  if  you  do  not  want  it,  throw  it 
over  the  edge  of  the  hill,  without  ado,  to  the 
birds  or  squirrels  or  kine,  and  do  not  include 
it  in  your  controversial  discourse.  It  is  not  a 
part  of  the  dogmatic  system  of  photoplay  criti- 
cism. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  ORCHESTRA,  CONVERSATION,  AND  THE 
CENSORSHIP 

Whenever  the  photoplay  is  mixed  in  the 
same  programme  with  vaudeville,  the  moving 
picture  part  of  the  show  suffers.  The  film  is 
rushed  through,  it  is  battered,  it  flickers  more 
than  commonly,  it  is  a  little  out  of  focus.  The 
house  is  not  built  for  it.  The  owner  of  the 
place  cannot  manage  an  art  gallery  with  a  circus 
on  his  hands.  It  takes  more  brains  than  one 
man  possesses  to  pick  good  vaudeville  talent 
and  bring  good  films  to  the  town  at  the  same 
time.  The  best  motion  picture  theatres  are 
built  for  photoplays  alone.  But  they  make 
one  mistake. 

Almost  every  motion  picture  theatre  has  its 
orchestra,  pianist,  or  mechanical  piano.  The 
perfect  photoplay  gathering-place  would  have  no 
sound  but  the  hum  of  the  conversing  audience. 
If  this  is  too  ruthless  a  theory,  let  the  music  be 
played  at  the  intervals  between  programmes, 

189 


190    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

while  the  advertisements  are  being  flung  upon 
the  screen,  the  lights  are  on,  and  the  people 
coming  in. 

If  there  is  something  more  to  be  done  on  the 
part  of  the  producer  to  make  the  film  a  telling 
one,  let  it  be  a  deeper  study  of  the  pictorial 
arrangement,  with  the  tones  more  carefully 
balanced,  the  sculpture  vitalized.  This  is 
certainly  better  than  to  have  a  raw  thing  bul- 
lied through  with  a  music-programme,  furnished 
to  bridge  the  weak  places  in  the  construction. 
A  picture  should  not  be  released  till  it  is  com- 
pletely thought  out.  A  producer  with  this 
goal  before  him  will  not  have  the  time  or  brains 
to  spare  to  write  music  that  is  as  closely  and 
delicately  related  to  the  action  as  the  action  is 
to  the  background.  And  unless  the  tunes  are 
at  one  with  the  scheme  they  are  an  intrusion. 
Perhaps  the  moving  picture  maker  has  a  twin 
brother  almost  as  able  in  music,  who  possesses 
the  faculty  of  subordinating  his  creations  to 
the  work  of  his  more  brilliant  coadjutor.  How 
are  they  going  to  make  a  practical  national 
distribution  of  the  accompaniment  .f^  In  the 
metropolitan  theatres  Cabiria  carried  its  own 
musicians  and  programme  with  a  rich  if  feverish 
result.     In  the  Birth  of  a  Nation,  music  was 


THE   CENSORSHIP  191 

used  that  approached  imitative  sound  devices. 
Also  the  orchestra  produced  a  substitute  for 
old-fashioned  stage  suspense  by  long  drawn- 
out  syncopations.  The  finer  photoplay  values 
were  thrown  askew.  Perhaps  these  two  per- 
formances could  be  successfully  vindicated  in 
musical  policy.  But  such  a  defence  proves 
nothing  in  regard  to  the  typical  film.  Imagine 
either  of  these  put  on  in  Rochester,  Illinois, 
population  one  hundred  souls.  The  reels  run 
through  as  well  as  on  Broadway  or  Michigan 
Avenue,  but  the  local  orchestra  cannot  play  the 
music  furnished  in  annotated  sheets  as  skil- 
fully as  the  local  operator  can  turn  the  reel  (or 
watch  the  motor  turn  it!). 

The  big  social  fact  about  the  moving  picture 
is  that  it  is  scattered  like  the  newspaper.  Any 
normal  accompaniment  thereof  must  likewise  be 
adapted  to  being  distributed  everywhere.  The 
present  writer  has  seen,  here  in  his  home  place, 
population  sixty  thousand,  all  the  films  discussed 
in  this  book  but  Cabiria  and  the  Birth  of  a 
Nation.  It  is  a  photoplay  paradise,  the  spoken 
theatre  is  practically  banished.  Unfortunately  ^ 
the  local  moving  picture  managers  think  it 
necessary  to  have  orchestras.  The  musicians 
they   can   secure   make   tunes   that   are  most 


192    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

squalid  and  horrible.  With  fathomless  imbe- 
cility, hoochey  koochey  strains  are  on  the 
air  while  heroes  are  dying.  The  Miserere  is 
in  our  ears  when  the  lovers  are  reconciled. 
Ragtime  is  imposed  upon  us  while  the  old 
mother  prays  for  her  lost  boy.  Sometimes  the 
musician  with  this  variety  of  sympathy  aban- 
dons himself  to  thrilling  improvisation. 

My  thoughts  on  this  subject  began  to  take 
form  several  years  ago,  when  the  film  this  book 
has  much  praised.  The  Battle  Hymn  of  the 
Republic,  came  to  town.  The  proprietor  of 
one  theatre  put  in  front  of  his  shop  a  twenty- 
foot  sign  "The  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic, 
by  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  brought  back  by 
special  request."  He  had  probably  read  Julia 
Ward  Howe's  name  on  the  film  forty  times 
before  the  sign  went  up.  His  assistant,  I  pre- 
sume his  daughter,  played  "In  the  Shade  of 
the  Old  Apple  Tree"  hour  after  hour,  while 
the  great  film  was  rolling  by.  Many  old  soldiers 
were  coming  to  see  it.  I  asked  the  assistant 
why  she  did  not  play  and  sing  the  Battle  Hymn. 
She  said  they  "just  couldn't  find  it."  Are  the 
distributors  willing  to  send  out  a  musician  with 
each  film  ? 

Many  of  the  Springfield  producers  are  quite 


THE  CENSORSHIP  193 

able  and  enterprising,  but  to  ask  for  music  with 
photoplays  is  like  asking  the  man  at  the  news 
stand  to  write  an  editorial  while  he  sells  you 
the  paper.  The  picture  with  a  great  orchestra 
in  a  far-off  metropolitan  Opera  House,  may 
be  classed  by  fanatic  partisanship  with  Grand 
Opera.  But  few  can  get  at  it.  It  has  nothing 
to  do  with  Democracy. 

Of  course  people  with  a  mechanical  imagina- 
tion, and  no  other  kind,  begin  to  suggest  the 
talking  moving  picture  at  this  point,  or  the 
phonograph  or  the  mechanical  piano.  Let  us 
discuss  the  talking  moving  picture  only.  That 
disposes  of  the  others. 

If  the  talking  moving  picture  becomes  a  re- 
liable mirror  of  the  human  voice  and  frame, 
it  will  be  the  basis  of  such  a  separate  art  that 
none  of  the  photoplay  precedents  will  apply. 
It  will  be  the  phono'play,  not  the  photoplay. 
It  will  be  unpleasant  for  a  long  time.  This 
book  is  a  struggle  against  the  non-humanness 
of  the  undisciplined  photograph.  Any  film  is 
correct,  realistic,  forceful,  many  times  before  it 
is  charming.  The  actual  physical  storage- 
battery  of  the  actor  is  many  hundred  miles 
away.  As  a  substitute,  the  human  quality 
must  come  in  the  marks  of  the  presence  of  the 


194    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

producer.  The  entire  painting  must  have  his 
brush-work.  If  we  compare  it  to  a  love-letter  it 
must  be  in  his  handwriting  rather  than  worked 
on  a  typewriter.  If  he  puts  his  autograph  into 
the  film,  it  is  after  a  fierce  struggle  with  the 
uncanny  scientific  quality  of  the  camera's  work. 
His  genius  and  that  of  the  whole  company  of 
actors  is  exhausted  in  the  task. 

The  raw  phonograph  is  likewise  unmagnetic. 
Would  you  set  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  troupe 
of  actors  the  additional  responsibility  of  put- 
ting an  adequate  substitute  for  human  mag- 
netism in  the  phonographic  disk.f^  The  voice 
that  does  not  actually  bleed,  that  contains  no 
heart-beats,  fails  to  meet  the  emergency.  Few 
people  have  wept  over  a  phonographic  selec- 
tion from  Tristan  and  Isolde.  They  are  moved 
at  the  actual  performance.  Why.^^  Look 
at  the  opera  singer  after  the  last  act.  His 
eyes  are  burning.  His  face  is  flushed.  His 
pulse  is  high.  Reaching  his  hotel  room,  he  is 
far  more  weary  than  if  he  had  sung  the  opera 
alone  there.  He  has  given  out  of  his  brain- 
fire  and  blood-beat  the  same  magnetism  that 
leads  men  in  battle.  To  speak  of  it  in  the 
crassest  terms,  this  resource  brings  him  a  hun- 
dred times  more  salary  than  another  man  with 


THE  CENSORSHIP  195 

just  as  good  a  voice  can  command.  The  out- 
put that  leaves  him  drained  at  the  end  of  the 
show  cannot  be  stored  in  the  phonograph  ma- 
chine. That  device  is  as  good  in  the  morning 
as  at  noon.     It  ticks  like  a  clock. 

To  perfect  the  talking  moving  picture,  human 
magnetism  must  be  put  into  the  mirror-screen 
and  into  the  clock.  Not  only  is  this  impera- 
tive, but  clock  and  mirror  must  be  harmonized, 
one  gently  subordinated  to  the  other.  Both 
cannot  rule.  In  the  present  talking  moving 
picture  the  more  highly  developed  photoplay  is 
dragged  by  the  hair  in  a  dead  faint,  in  the  wake 
of  the  screaming  savage  phonograph.  No  talk- 
ing machine  on  the  market  reproduces  conver- 
sation clearly  unless  it  be  elaborately  articulated 
in  unnatural  tones  with  a  stiff  interval  between 
each  question  and  answer.  Real  dialogue  goes 
to  ruin. 

The  talking  moving  picture  came  to  our 
town.  We  were  given  for  one  show  a  line  of 
minstrels  facing  the  audience,  with  the  inter- 
locutor repeating  his  immemorial  question, 
and  the  end-man  giving  the  immemorial 
answer.  Then  came  a  scene  in  a  blacksmith 
shop  where  certain  well-differentiated  rackets 
were  carried  over  the  footlights.     No  one  heard 


196    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  blacksmith,  unless  he  stopped  to  shout 
straight  at  us. 

The  phonoplay  can  quite  possibly  reach  some 
divine  goal,  but  it  will  be  after  the  speak- 
ling  powers  of  the  phonograph  excel  the  pho- 
tographing powers  of  the  reel,  and  then  the 
pictures  will  be  brought  in  as  comment  and 
ornament  to  the  speech.  The  pictures  will 
be  held  back  by  the  phonograph  as  long  as  it  is 
more  limited  in  its  range.  The  pictures  are  at 
present  freer  and  more  versatile  without  it. 
If  the  phonoplay  is  ever  established,  since  it 
will  double  the  machinery,  it  must  needs  double 
its  prices.  It  will  be  the  illustrated  phono- 
graph, in  a  more  expensive  theatre. 

The  orchestra  is  in  part  a  blundering  effort 
by  the  local  manager  to  supply  the  human- 
magnetic  element  which  he  feels  lacking  in  the 
pictures  on  which  the  producer  has  not  left 
his  autograph.  But  there  is  a  much  more 
economic  and  magnetic  accompaniment,  the 
before-mentioned  buzzing  commentary  of  the 
audience.  There  will  be  some  people  who 
disturb  the  neighbors  in  front,  but  the  average 
crowd  has  developed  its  manners  in  this  partic- 
ular, and  when  the  orchestra  is  silent,  murmurs 
like  a  pleasant  brook. 


THE   CENSORSHIP  197 

Local  manager,  why  not  an  advertising  cam- 
paign in  your  town  that  says  :  "Beginning  Mon- 
day and  henceforth,  ours  shall  be  known  as  the 
Conversational  Theatre  "  ?  At  the  door  let  each 
person  be  handed  the  following  card :  — 

"You  are  encouraged  to  discuss  the  picture 
with  the  friend  who  accompanies  you  to  this 
place.  Conversation,  of  course,  must  be  suffi- 
ciently subdued  not  to  disturb  the  stranger  who 
did  not  come  with  you  to  the  theatre.  If  you 
are  so  disposed,  consider  your  answers  to  these 
questions :  What  play  or  part  of  a  play  given 
in  this  theatre  did  you  like  most  to-day  ?  What 
the  least?  What  is  the  best  picture  you  have 
ever  seen  anywhere  ?  What  pictures,  seen  here 
this  month,  shall  we  bring  back.^^"  Here  give 
a  list  of  the  recent  productions,  with  squares 
to  mark  by  the  Australian  ballot  system :  ap- 
proved or  disapproved.  The  cards  with  their 
answers  could  be  slipped  into  the  ballot-box 
at  the  door  as  the  crowd  goes  out. 

It  may  be  these  questions  are  for  the  ex- 
ceptional audiences  in  residence  districts.  Per- 
haps with  most  crowds  the  last  interrogation 
is  the  only  one  worth  while.  But  by  gathering 
habitually  the  answers  to  that  alone  the  place 
would  get  the  drift  of  its  public,  realize  its 


198    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

genius,  and  become  an  art-gallery,  the  people 
bestowing  the  blue  ribbons.  The  photoplay 
theatres  have  coupon  contests  and  balloting 
already :  the  most  popular  young  lady,  money 
prizes  to  the  best  vote-getter  in  the  audience, 
etc.    Why  not  ballot  on  the  matter  in  hand  ? 

If  the  cards  are  sent  out  by  the  big  pro- 
ducers, a  referendum  could  be  secured  that 
would  be  invaluable  in  arguing  down  to  rigid 
censorship,  and  enable  them  to  make  their  own 
private  censorship  more  intelligent.  Various 
styles  of  experimental  cards  could  be  tried  till 
the  vital  one  is  found. 

There  is  growing  up  in  this  country  a  clan  of 
half -formed  moving  picture  critics.  The  pres- 
ent stage  of  their  work  is  indicated  by  the  elo- 
quent notice  describing  Your  Girl  and  Mine, 
in  the  chapter  on  Progress  and  Endowment. 
The  metropolitan  papers  give  their  photo- 
play reporters  as  much  space  as  the  theatrical 
critics.  Here  in  my  home  town  the  twelve 
moving  picture  places  take  one  half  a  page  of 
chaotic  notices  daily.  The  country  is  being 
badly  led  by  professional  photoplay  news- 
writers  who  do  not  know  where  they  are  going, 
but  are  on  the  way. 

But  they  aptly  describe  the  habitual  attend- 


THE  CENSORSHIP  199 

ants  as  moving  picture  fans.  The  fan  at  the 
photoplay,  as  at  the  base-ball  grounds,  is 
neither  a  low-brow  nor  a  high-brow.  He  is  an 
enthusiast  who  is  as  stirred  by  the  charge  of 
the  photographic  cavalry  as  by  the  home  runs 
that  he  watches  from  the  bleachers.  In  both 
places  he  has  the  privilege  of  comment  while 
the  game  goes  on.  In  the  photoplay  theatre 
it  is  not  so  vociferous,  but  as  keenly  felt.  Each 
person  roots  by  himself.  He  has  his  own  judg- 
ment, and  roasts  the  umpire :  who  is  the  keeper 
of  the  local  theatre :  or  the  producer,  as  the  case 
may  be.  If  these  opinions  of  the  fan  can  be 
collected  and  classified,  an  informal  censorship 
is  at  once  established.  The  photoplay  report- 
ers can  then  take  the  enthusiasts  in  hand  and 
lead  them  to  a  realization  of  the  finer  points 
in  awarding  praise  and  blame.  Even  the  sport- 
ing pages  have  their  expert  opinions  with  due 
influence  on  the  betting  odds.  Out  of  the 
work  of  the  photoplay  reporters  let  a  super- 
structure of  art  criticism  be  reared  in  peri- 
odicals like  the  Century,  Harper's,  Scribner's, 
The  Atlantic,  The  Craftsman,  and  the  architec- 
tural magazines.  These  are  our  natural  custo- 
dians of  art.  They  should  reproduce  the  most 
exquisite  tableaus,  and  be  as  fastidious  in  their 


200    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

selection  of  them  as  they  are  in  the  current 
examples  of  the  other  arts.  Let  them  spread  the 
news  when  photoplays  keyed  to  the  Rem- 
brandt mood  arrive.  The  reporters  for  the 
newspapers  should  get  their  ideas  and  refresh- 
ment in  such  places  as  the  Ryerson  Art  Library 
of  the  Chicago  Art  Institute.  They  should 
begin  with  such  books  as  Richard  Muther's 
History  of  Modern  Painting,  John  C.  Van 
Dyke's  Art  for  Art's  Sake,  Marquand  and 
Frothingham's  History  of  Sculpture,  A.  D.  F. 
Hamlin's  History  of  Architecture.  They  should 
take  the  business  of  guidance  in  this  new  world 
as  a  sacred  trust,  knowing  they  have  the  power 
to  influence  an  enormous  democracy. 

The  moving  picture  journals  and  the  literati 
are  in  straits  over  the  censorship  question.  The 
literati  side  with  the  managers,  on  the  princi- 
ples of  free  speech  and  a  free  press.  But  few  of 
the  aesthetically  super-wise  are  persistent  fans. 
They  rave  for  freedom,  but  are  not,  as  a  general 
thing,  living  back  in  the  home  town.  They  do 
not  face  the  exigency  of  having  their  summer 
and  winter  amusement  spoiled  day  after  day. 

Extremists  among  the  pious  are  railing 
against  the  moving  pictures  as  once  they 
railed  against  novels.     They  have  no  notion 


THE  CENSORSHIP  201 

that  this  institution  is  penetrating  to  the  last 
backwoods  of  our  civilization,  where  its  pres- 
ence is  as  hard  to  prevent  as  the  rain.  But 
some  of  us  are  destined  to  a  reaction,  almost 
as  strong  as  the  obsession.  The  religionists 
will  think  they  lead  it.  They  will  be  self- 
deceived.  Moving  picture  nausea  is  already 
taking  hold  of  numberless  people,  even  when 
they  are  in  the  purely  pagan  mood.  Forced 
by  their  limited  purses,  their  inability  to  buy 
a  Ford  car,  and  the  like,  they  go  in  their  loneli- 
ness to  film  after  film  till  the  whole  world  seems 
to  turn  on  a  reel.  When  they  are  again  at  home, 
they  see  in  the  dark  an  imaginary  screen  with 
tremendous  pictures,  whirling  by  at  a  horribly 
accelerated  pace,  a  photoplay  dehrium  tremens. 
Faster  and  faster  the  reel  turns  in  the  back  of 
their  heads.  When  the  moving  picture  sea-sick- 
ness is  upon  one,  nothing  satisfies  but  the  quietest 
out  of  doors,  the  companionship  of  the  gentlest 
of  real  people.  The  non-movie-life  has  charms 
such  as  one  never  before  conceived.  The  worn 
citizen  feels  that  the  cranks  and  legislators  can 
do  what  they  please  to  the  producers.  He  is 
through  with  them. 

The  moving   picture   business  men   do   not 
realize  that  they  have  to  face  these  nervous 


202    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

J 

conditions  in  their  erstwhile  friends.  They 
flatter  themselves  they  are  being  pursued  by 
some  reincarnations  of  Anthony  Comstock. 
There  are  several  reasons  why  photoplay  corpo- 
rations are  callous,  along  with  the  sufficient 
one  that  they  are  corporations. 

First,  they  are  engaged  in  a  financial  orgy. 
Fortunes  are  being  found  by  actors  and  man- 
agers faster  than  they  were  dug  up  in  1849  and 
1850  in  California.  Forty-niner  lawlessness  of 
soul  prevails.  They  talk  each  other  into  a 
lordly  state  of  mind.  All  is  dash  and  experi- 
ment. Look  at  the  advertisements  in  the 
leading  moving  picture  magazines.  They  are 
like  the  praise  of  oil  stock  or  Per  una.  They 
bawl  about  films  founded  upon  little  classics. 
They  howl  about  plots  that  are  ostensibly  from 
the  soberest  of  novels,  whose  authors  they  blas- 
phemously invoke.  They  boo  and  blow  about 
twisted,  callous  scenarios  that  are  bad  imita- 
tions of  the  world's  most  beloved  lyrics. 

The  producers  do  not  realize  the  mass  effect 
of  the  output  of  the  business.  It  appears  to 
many  as  a  sea  of  unharnessed  photography : 
sloppy  conceptions  set  forth  with  sharp  edges 
and  irrelevant  realism.  The  jumping,  twitch- 
ing, cold-blooded  devices,  day  after  day,  create 


THE   CENSORSHIP  203 

the  aforesaid  sea-sickness,  that  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  questionable  subject.  When  on 
top  of  this  we  come  to  the  picture  that  is  actu- 
ally insulting,  we  are  up  in  arms  indeed.  It  is 
supplied  by  a  corporation  magnate  removed 
from  his  audience  in  location,  fortune,  interest, 
and  mood :  an  absentee  landlord.  I  was  trying 
to  convert  a  talented  and  noble  friend  to  the 
films.  The  first  time  we  went  there  was  a 
prize-fight  between  a  black  and  a  white  man, 
not  advertised,  used  for  a  filler.  I  said  it  was 
queer,  and  would  not  happen  again.  The 
next  time  my  noble  friend  was  persuaded  to 
go,  there  was  a  cock-fight,  incidental  to  a 
Cuban  romance.  The  third  visit  we  beheld  a 
lady  who  was  dying  for  five  minutes,  rolling  her 
eyes  about  in  a  way  that  was  fearful  to  see. 
The  convert  was  not  made. 

It  is  too  easy  to  produce  an  unprovoked 
murder,  an  inexplicable  arson,  neither  led  up 
to  nor  followed  by  the  ordinary  human  history 
of  such  acts,  and  therefore  as  arbitrary  as  the 
deeds  of  idiots  or  the  insane.  A  villainous 
hate,  an  alleged  love,  a  violent  death,  are  flashed 
at  us,  without  being  in  any  sort  of  tableau  logic. 
The  public  is  ceaselessly  played  upon  by  tact- 
less devices.     Therefore  it  howls,  just  as  chil- 


204    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

dren  in  the  nursery  do  when  the  awkward 
governess  tries  the  very  thing  the  diplomatic 
governess,  in  reasonable  time,  may  bring  about. 
The  producer  has  the  man  in  the  audience 
who  cares  for  the  art  peculiarly  at  his  mercy. 
Compare  him  with  the  person  who  wants  to 
read  a  magazine  for  an  evening.  He  can 
look  over  all  the  periodicals  in  the  local  book- 
store in  fifteen  minutes.  He  can  select  the 
one  he  wants,  take  this  bit  of  printed  matter 
home,  go  through  the  contents,  find  the  three 
articles  he  prefers,  get  an  evening  of  reading 
out  of  them,  and  be  happy.  Every  day  as 
many  photoplays  come  to  our  town  as  maga- 
zines come  to  the  book-store  in  a  week  or  a 
month.  There  are  good  ones  and  bad  ones 
buried  in  the  list.  There  is  no  way  to  sample 
the  films.  One  has  to  wait  through  the  first 
third  of  a  reel  before  he  has  an  idea  of  the 
merits  of  a  production,  his  ten  cents  is  spent, 
and  much  of  his  time  is  gone.  It  would  take 
five  hours  at  least  to  find  the  best  film  in  our 
town  for  one  day.  Meanwhile,  nibbling  and 
sampling,  the  seeker  would  run  such  a  gauntlet 
of  plot  and  dash  and  chase  that  his  eyes  and 
patience  would  be  exhausted.  Recently  there 
returned  to  the  city  for  a  day  one  of  GriflSth's 


THE  CENSORSHIP  205 

best  Biographs,  The  Last  Drop  of  Water.  It 
was  good  to  see  again.  In  order  to  watch  this 
one  reel  twice  I  had  to  wait  through  five  others 
of  unutterable  miscellany. 

Since  the  producers  and  theatre-managers 
have  us  at  their  mercy,  they  are  under  every 
obligation  to  consider  our  delicate  susceptibili- 
ties —  granting  the  proposition  that  in  an  ideal 
world  we  will  have  no  legal  censorship.  As  to 
what  to  do  in  this  actual  nation,  let  the  reader 
follow  what  John  Collier  has  recently  written  in 
the  Survey.  Collier  was  the  leading  force  in 
founding  the  National  Board  of  Censorship.  As 
a  member  of  that  volunteer  extra-legal  board 
which  is  independent  and  high  minded,  yet 
accepted  by  the  leading  picture  companies,  he 
is  able  to  discuss  legislation  in  a  manner  which 
the  present  writer  cannot  hope  to  match.  Read 
John  Collier.  But  I  wish  to  suggest  that  the 
ideal  censorship  is  that  to  which  the  daily  press 
is  subject,  the  elastic  hand  of  public  opinion,  if 
the  photoplay  can  be  brought  as  near  to  news- 
paper conditions  in  this  matter  as  it  is  in  some 
others. 

How  does  public  opinion  grip  the  journalist  ? 
The  editor  has  a  constant  report  from  his 
constituency.     A  popular  scoop  sells  an  extra 


206    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

at  once.  An  attack  on  the  wrong  idol  cancels 
fifty  subscriptions.  People  come  to  the  oflBce 
to  do  it,  and  say  why.  If  there  is  a  piece  of 
real  news  on  the  second  page,  and  fifty  letters 
come  in  about  it  that  night,  next  month 
when  that  character  of  news  reappears  it  gets 
the  front  page.  Some  human  peculiarities  are 
not  mentioned,  some  phrases  not  used.  The 
total  attribute  of  the  blue-pencil  man  is  diplo- 
macy. But  while  the  motion  pictures  come  out 
every  day,  they  get  their  discipline  months  after- 
wards in  the  legislation  that  insists  on  everything 
but  tact.  A  tentative  substitute  for  the  letters 
that  come  to  the  editor,  the  personal  call  and 
cancelled  subscription,  and  the  rest,  is  the 
system  of  balloting  on  the  picture,  especially 
the  answer  to  the  question,  "What  picture  seen 
here  this  month,  or  this  week,  shall  we  bring 
back?"  Experience  will  teach  how  to  put 
the  queries.  By  the  same  system  the  public 
might  dictate  its  own  cut-outs.  Let  us  have 
a  democracy  and  a  photoplay  business  work- 
ing in  daily  rhythm. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  SUBSTITUTE  FOR  THE  SALOON 

This  is  a  special  commentary  on  chapter 
five,  The  Picture  of  Crowd  Splendor.  It  refers 
as  well  to  every  other  type  of  moving  picture 
that  gets  into  the  slum.  But  the  masses  have 
an  extraordinary  ajQfinity  for  the  Crowd  Photo- 
play. As  has  been  said  before,  the  mob  comes 
nightly  to  behold  its  natural  face  in  the 
glass.  Politicians  on  the  platform  have  swayed 
the  mass  below  them.  But  now,  to  speak  in 
an  Irish  way,  the  crowd  takes  the  platform,  and 
looking  down,  sees  itself  swaying.  The  slums 
are  an  astonishing  assembly  of  cave-men  crawl- 
ing out  of  their  shelters  to  exhibit  for  the 
first  time  in  history  a  common  interest  on  a 
tremendous  scale  in  an  art  form.  Below  the 
cliff  caves  were  bar  rooms  in  endless  lines. 
There  are  almost  as  many  bar  rooms  to-day, 
yet  this  new  thing  breaks  the  lines  as  nothing 
else  ever  did.  Often  when  a  moving  picture 
house  is  set  up,  the  saloon  on  the  right  hand  or 
the  left  declares  bankruptcy. 

207 


208    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Why  do  men  prefer  the  photoplay  to  the 
drinking  place?  For  no  pious  reason,  surely. 
Now  they  have  fire  pouring  into  their  eyes 
instead  of  into  their  bellies.  Blood  is  drawn 
from  the  guts  to  the  brain.  Though  the  pic- 
ture be  the  veriest  mess,  the  light  and  move- 
ment cause  the  beholder  to  do  a  little  reptilian 
thinking.  After  a  day's  work  a  street-sweeper 
enters  the  place,  heavy  as  King  Log.  A 
ditch-digger  goes  in,  sick  and  surly.  It  is  the 
state  of  the  body  when  many  men  drink  them- 
selves into  insensibility.  But  here  the  light 
is  as  strong  in  the  eye  as  whiskey  in  the  throat. 
Along  with  the  flare,  shadow,  and  mystery,  they 
face  the  existence  of  people,  places,  costumes, 
utterly  novel.  Immigrants  are  prodded  by 
these  swords  of  darkness  and  light  to  guess  at 
the  meaning  of  the  catch-phrases  and  headlines 
that  punctuate  the  play.  They  strain  to  hear 
their  neighbors  whisper  or  spell  them  out. 

The  photoplays  have  done  something  to  re- 
unite the  lower-class  families.  No  longer  is 
the  fire-escape  the  only  summer  resort  for  big 
and  little  folks.  Here  is  more  fancy  and  whim 
than  ever  before  blessed  a  hot  night.  Here, 
under  the  wind  of  an  electric  fan,  they  witness 
everything,  from  a  burial  in  Westminster  to  the 


SUBSTITUTE  FOR  THE  SALOON     209 

birthday  parade  of  the  ruler  of  the  land  of 
Swat. 

The  usual  saloon  equipment  to  delight  the 
eye  is  one  so-called  "leg"  picture  of  a  woman, 
a  photograph  of  a  prize-fighter,  and  some 
colored  portraits  of  goats  to  advertise  various 
brands  of  beer.  Many  times,  no  doubt,  these 
boys  and  young  men  have  found  visions  of  a 
sordid  kind  while  gazing  on  the  actress,  the 
fighter,  or  the  goats.  But  what  poor  material 
they  had  in  the  wardrobes  of  memory  for  the 
trimmings  and  habiliments  of  vision,  to  make 
this  lady  into  Freya,  this  prize-fighter  into 
Thor,  these  goats  into  the  harnessed  steeds 
that  drew  his  chariot!  Man's  dreams  are  re- 
arranged and  glorified  memories.  How  could 
these  people  reconstruct  the  torn  carpets  and 
tin  cans  and  waste-paper  of  their  lives  into  my- 
thology ?  How  could  memories  of  Ladies'  En- 
trance squalor  be  made  into  Castles  in  Granada 
or  Carcassonne  ?  The  things  they  drank  to  see, 
and  saw  but  grotesquely,  and  paid  for  terribly, 
now  roll  before  them  with  no  after  pain  or  pun- 
ishment. The  mumbled  conversation,  the  socia- 
bility for  which  they  leaned  over  the  tables,  they 
have  here  in  the  same  manner  with  far  more 
to  talk  about.     They  come,  they  go  home,  men 


210    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

and  women  together,  as  casually  and  impulsively 
as  the  men  alone  ever  entered  a  drinking-place, 
but  discoursing  now  of  far-off  mountains  and 
star-crossed  lovers.  As  Padraic  Colum  says  in 
his  poem  on  the  herdsman :  — 

"  With  thoughts  on  white  ships 
And  the  King  of  Spain's  Daughter." 

This  is  why  the  saloon  on  the  right  hand  and 
on  the  left  in  the  slum  is  apt  to  move  out  when 
the  photoplay  moves  in. 

But  let  us  go  to  the  other  end  of  the  temper- 
ance argument.  I  beg  to  be  allowed  to  relate  a 
personal  matter.  For  some  time  I  was  a  field- 
worker  for  the  Anti-Saloon  League  of  Illinois, 
being  sent  every  Sunday  to  a  new  region  to 
make  the  yearly  visit  on  behalf  of  the  league. 
Such  a  visitor  is  apt  to  speak  to  one  church  in  a 
village,  and  two  in  the  country,  on  each  excur- 
sion, being  met  at  the  station  by  some  leading 
farmer-citizen  of  the  section,  and  driven  to  these 
points  by  him.  The  talk  with  this  man  was 
worth  it  all  to  me. 

The  agricultural  territory  of  the  United  States 
is  naturally  dry.  This  is  because  the  cross-roads 
church  is  the  only  communal  institution,  and 
the  voice  of  the  cross-roads  pastor  is  for  teeto- 


SUBSTITUTE  FOR  THE  SALOON     211 

talism.  The  routine  of  the  farm-hand,  while  by 
no  means  ideal  in  other  respects,  keeps  him  from 
craving  drink  as  intensely  as  other  toilers  do. 
A  day's  work  in  the  open  air  fills  his  veins  at 
nightfall  with  an  opiate  of  weariness  instead  of  a 
high-strung  nervousness.  The  strong  men  of 
the  community  are  church  elders,  not  through 
fanaticism,  but  by  right  of  leadership.  Through 
their  office  they  are  committed  to  prohibition. 
So  opposition  to  the  temperance  movement  is 
scattering.  The  Anti-Saloon  League  has  organ- 
ized these  leaders  into  a  nation-wide  machine. 
It  sees  that  they  get  their  weekly  paper,  instruct- 
ing them  in  the  tactics  whereby  local  fights  have 
been  won.  A  subscription  financing  the  State 
League  is  taken  once  a  year.  It  counts  on  the 
regular  list  of  church  benevolences.  The  state 
officers  come  in  to  help  on  the  critical  local 
fights.  Any  country  politician  fears  their 
non-partisan  denunciation  as  he  does  political 
death.  The  local  machines  thus  backed  are 
incurable  mugwumps,  hold  the  balance  of 
power,  work  in  both  parties,  and  have  voted 
dry  the  agricultural  territory  of  the  United 
States  everywhere,  by  the  township,  county, 
or  state  unit. 

The  only  institutions  that  touch  the  same 


212    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

territory  in  a  similar  way  are  the  Chautauquas 
in  the  prosperous  agricultural  centres.  These, 
too,  by  the  same  sign  are  emphatically  anti- 
saloon  in  their  propaganda,  serving  to  intellec- 
tualize  and  secularize  the  dry  sentiment  with- 
out taking  it  out  of  the  agricultural  caste. 

There  is  a  definite  line  between  our  farm- 
civilization  and  the  rest.  When  a  county 
goes  dry,  it  is  generally  in  spite  of  the  county- 
seat.  Such  temperance  people  as  are  in  the 
court-house  town  represent  the  church-vote, 
which  is  even  then  in  goodly  proportion  a 
retired-farmer  vote.  The  larger  the  county 
seat,  the  larger  the  non-church-going  popula- 
tion and  the  more  stubborn  the  fight.  The 
majority  of  miners  and  factory  workers  are  on 
the  wet  side  everywhere.  The  irritation  caused 
by  the  gases  in  the  mines,  by  the  dirty  work 
in  the  blackness,  by  the  squalor  in  which  the 
company  houses  are  built,  turns  men  to  drink 
for  reaction  and  lamplight  and  comradeship. 
The  similar  fevers  and  exasperations  of  factory 
life  lead  the  workers  to  unstring  their  tense 
nerves  with  liquor.  The  habit  of  snuggling  up 
close  in  factories,  conversing  often,  bench  by 
bench,  machine  by  machine,  inclines  them  to 
get   together  for  their  pleasures  at  the  bar. 


SUBSTITUTE  FOR  THE  SALOON     213 

In  industrial  America  there  is  an  anti-saloon 
minority  in  moral  sympathy  with  the  temper- 
ance wave  brought  in  by  the  farmers.  But 
they  are  outstanding  groups.  Their  leadership 
seldom  dries  up  a  factory  town  or  a  mining  re- 
gion, with  all  the  help  the  Anti-Saloon  League 
can  give. 

In  the  big  cities  the  temperance  movement 
is  scarcely  understood.  The  choice  residential 
districts  are  voted  dry  for  real  estate  reasons. 
The  men  who  do  this,  drink  freely  at  their  own 
clubs  or  parties.  The  temperance  question 
would  be  fruitlessly  argued  to  the  end  of  time 
were  it  not  for  the  massive  agricultural  vote 
rolling  and  roaring  round  each  metropolis, 
reawakening  the  town  churches  whose  vote  is 
a  pitiful  minority  but  whose  spokesmen  are 
occasionally    strident. 

There  is  a  prophecy  abroad  that  prohibition 
will  be  the  issue  of  a  national  election.  If 
the  question  is  squarely  put,  there  are  enough 
farmers  and  church-people  to  drive  the  saloon 
out  of  legal  existence.  The  woman's  vote,  a 
little  more  puritanical  than  the  men's  vote, 
will  make  the  result  sure.  As  one  anxious  for 
this  victory,  I  have  often  speculated  on  the 
situation  when  all  America  is  nominally  dry. 


214    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

at  the  behest  of  the  American  farmer,  the 
American  preacher,  and  the  American  woman. 
When  the  use  of  alcohol  is  treason,  what  will 
become  of  those  all  but  unbroken  lines  of  slum 
saloons?  No  lesser  force  than  regular  troops 
could  dislodge  them,  with  yesterday's  intrench- 
ment. 

The  entrance  of  the  motion  picture  house 
into  the  arena  is  indeed  striking,  the  first  enemy 
of  King  Alcohol  with  real  power  where  that  king 
has  deepest  hold.  If  every  one  of  those  saloon 
doors  is  nailed  up  by  the  Chautauqua  orators, 
the  photoplay  archway  will  remain  open.  The 
people  will  have  a  shelter  where  they  can  read- 
just themselves,  that  offers  a  substitute  for 
many  of  the  lines  of  pleasure  in  the  groggery. 
And  a  whole  evening  costs  but  a  dime  apiece. 
Several  rounds  of  drinks  are  expensive,  but  the 
people  can  sit  through  as  many  repetitions  of 
this  programme  as  they  desire,  for  one  entrance 
fee.  The  dominant  genius  of  the  moving  pic- 
ture place  is  not  a  gentleman  with  a  red  nose 
and  an  eye  like  a  dead  fish,  but  some  producer 
who,  with  all  his  faults,  has  given  every  person 
in  the  audience  a  seven-leagued  angel-and- 
demon  telescope. 

Since  I  have  announced  myself  a  farmer  and 


SUBSTITUTE  FOR  THE  SALOON     215 

a  puritan,  let  me  here  list  the  saloon  evils  not 
yet  recorded  in  this  chapter.  They  are  separate 
from  the  catalogue  of  the  individualistic  woes  of 
the  drunkard  that  are  given  in  the  Scripture. 
The  shame  of  the  American  drinking  place 
is  the  bar-tender  who  dominates  its  thinking. 
His  cynical  and  hardened  soul  wipes  out  a 
portion  of  the  influence  of  the  public  school, 
the  library,  the  self-respecting  newspaper.  A 
stream  rises  no  higher  than  its  source,  and 
through  his  dead-fish  eye  and  dead-fish  brain 
the  group  of  tired  men  look  upon  all  the  states- 
men and  wise  ones  of  the  land.  Though  he 
says  worse  than  nothing,  his  furry  tongue,  by 
endless  reiteration,  is  the  American  slum  oracle. 
At  the  present  the  bar-tender  handles  the 
neighborhood  group,  the  ultimate  unit  in  city 
politics. 

So,  good  citizen,  welcome  the  coming  of  the 
moving  picture  man  as  a  local  social  force. 
Whatever  his  private  character,  the  mere 
formula  of  his  activities  makes  him  a  better 
type.  He  may  not  at  first  sway  his  group 
in  a  directly  political  way,  but  he  will  make 
himself  the  centre  of  more  social  ideals  than 
the  bar-tender  ever  entertained.  And  he  is 
beginning  to  have  as  intimate  a  relation  to 


216    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

his  public  as  the  bar-tender.  In  many  cases  he 
stands  under  his  arch  in  the  sheltered  lobby  and 
is  on  conversing  terms  with  his  habitual  cus- 
tomers, the  length  of  the  afternoon  and  evening. 

Voting  the  saloon  out  of  the  slums  by  voting 
America  dry,  does  not,  as  of  old,  promise  to  be 
a  successful  operation  that  kills  the  patient. 
In  the  past  some  of  the  photoplay  magazines 
have  contained  denunciations  of  the  temper- 
ance people  for  refusing  to  say  anything  in 
behalf  of  the  greatest  practical  enemy  of  the 
saloon.  But  it  is  not  too  late  for  the  dry  forces 
to  repent.  The  Anti-Saloon  League  officers 
and  the  photoplay  men  should  ask  each  other 
to  dinner.  More  moving  picture  theatres  in 
doubtful  territory  will  help  make  dry  voters. 
And  wet  territory  voted  dry  will  bring  about 
a  greatly  accelerated  patronage  of  the  photo- 
play houses.  There  is  every  strategic  reason 
why  these  two  forces  should  patch  up  a  truce. 

Meanwhile,  the  cave-man,  reader  of  picture- 
writing,  is  given  a  chance  to  admit  light  into 
his  mind,  whatever  he  puts  to  his  lips.  Let 
us  look  for  the  day,  be  it  a  puritan  triumph  or 
not,  when  the  sons  and  the  daughters  of  the 
slums  shall  prophesy,  the  young  men  shall  see 
visions,  the  old  men  dream  dreams. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

CALIFORNIA   AND    AMERICA 

The  moving  picture  captains  of  industry, 
like  the  California  gold  finders  of  1849,  making 
colossal  fortunes  in  two  or  three  years,  have  the 
same  glorious  irresponsibility  and  occasional 
need  of  the  sheriff.  They  are  Calif ornians 
more  literally  than  this.  Around  Los  Angeles 
the  greatest  and  most  characteristic  moving 
picture  colonies  are  being  built.  Each  photo- 
play magazine  has  its  California  letter,  telling  of 
the  putting-up  of  new  studios,  and  the  transfer 
of  actors,  with  much  slap-you-on-the-back  per- 
sonal gossip.  This  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  fact 
that  every  type  of  the  photoplay  but  the  inti- 
mate is  founded  on  some  phase  of  the  out-of- 
doors.  Being  thus  dependent,  the  plant  can 
best  be  set  up  where  there  is  no  winter.  Be- 
sides this,  the  Los  Angeles  region  has  the  sea, 
the  mountains,  the  desert,  and  many  kinds  of 
grove  and  field.  Landscape  and  architecture 
are    sub-tropical.     But    for    a    description    of 

217 


218    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

California,  ask  any  traveller  or  study  the  back- 
ground of  most  any  photoplay. 

If  the  photoplay  is  the  consistent  utterance 
of  its  scenes,  if  the  actors  are  incarnations  of 
the  land  they  walk  upon,  as  they  should  be, 
California  indeed  stands  a  chance  to  achieve 
through  the  films  an  utterance  of  her  own. 
Will  this  land  furthest  west  be  the  first  to  cap- 
ture the  inner  spirit  of  this  newest  and  most 
curious  of  the  arts?  It  certainly  has  the  op- 
portunity that  comes  with  the  actors,  producers, 
and  equipment.  Let  us  hope  that  every  region 
will  develop  the  silent  photographic  pageant  in 
a  local  form  as  outlined  in  the  chapter  on  Prog- 
ress and  Endowment.  Already  the  California 
sort,  in  the  commercial  channels,  has  become 
the  broadly  accepted  if  mediocre  national  form. 
People  who  revere  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  1620 
have  often  wished  those  gentlemen  had  moored 
their  bark  in  the  region  of  Los  Angeles  rather 
than  Plymouth  Rock,  that  Boston  had  been 
founded  there.  At  last  that  landing  is 
achieved. 

Patriotic  art  students  have  discussed  with 
mingled  irony  and  admiration  the  Boston 
domination  of  the  only  American  culture  of 
the    nineteenth    century,   namely,    literature. 


CALIFORNIA  AND  AMERICA         219 

Indianapolis  has  had  her  day  since  then, 
Chicago  is  lifting  her  head.  Nevertheless 
Boston  still  controls  the  text-book  in  English 
and  dominates  our  high  schools.  Ironic  feel- 
ings in  this  matter  on  the  part  of  western  men 
are  based  somewhat  on  envy  and  illegitimate 
cussedness,  but  are  also  grounded  in  the  honest 
hope  of  a  healthful  rivalry.  They  want  new 
romanticists  and  artists  as  indigenous  to  their 
soil  as  was  Hawthorne  to  witch-haunted  Salem 
or  Longfellow  to  the  chestnuts  of  his  native 
heath.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  patriarchs, 
from  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  to  Amos  Bron- 
son  Alcott,  they  were  true  sons  of  the  New  Eng- 
land stone  fences  and  meeting  houses.  They 
could  not  have  been  born  or  nurtured  anywhere 
else  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Some  of  us  view  with  a  peculiar  thrill  the 
prospect  that  Los  Angeles  may  become  the 
Boston  of  the  photoplay.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  better  to  say  the  Florence,  because  California 
reminds  one  of  colorful  Italy  more  than  of 
any  part  of  the  United  States.  Yet  there  is  a 
difference. 

The  present-day  man-in-the-street,  man- 
about-town  Californian  has  an  obvious  mag- 
nificence about  him  that  is  allied  to  the  euca- 


220    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

lyptus  tree,  the  pomegranate.  California  is  a 
gilded  state.  It  has  not  the  sordidness  of  gold, 
as  has  Wall  Street,  but  it  is  the  embodiment 
of  the  natural  ore  that  the  ragged  prospector 
finds.  The  gold  of  California  is  the  color  of 
the  orange,  the  glitter  of  dawn  in  the  Yosemite, 
the  hue  of  the  golden  gate  that  opens  the  sunset 
way  to  mystic  and  terrible  Cathay  and  Hindu- 
stan. 

The  enemy  of  California  says  the  state  is 
magnificent  but  thin.  He  declares  it  is  as 
though  it  were  painted  on  a  Brobdingnagian 
piece  of  gilt  paper,  and  he  who  dampens  his 
finger  and  thrusts  it  through  finds  an  alkali 
valley  on  the  other  side,  the  lonely  prickly 
pear,  and  a  heap  of  ashes  from  a  deserted  camp- 
fire.  He  says  the  citizens  of  this  state  lack 
the  richness  of  an  aesthetic  and  religious  tradi- 
tion. He  says  there  is  no  substitute  for  time. 
But  even  these  things  make  for  coincidence. 
This  apparent  thinness  California  has  in  common 
with  the  routine  photoplay,  which  is  at  times 
as  shallow  in  its  thought  as  the  shadow  it 
throws  upon  the  screen.  This  newness  Cali- 
fornia has  in  common  with  all  photoplays. 
It  is  thrillingly  possible  for  the  state  and  the  art 
to  acquire  spiritual  tradition  and  depth  together. 


CALIFORNIA  AND  AMERICA         221 

Part  of  the  thinness  of  California  is  not  only 
its  youth,  but  the  result  of  the  physical  fact 
that  the  human  race  is  there  spread  over  so 
many  acres  of  land.  They  try  not  only  to 
count  their  mines  and  enumerate  their  palm 
trees,  but  they  count  the  miles  of  their  sea- 
coast,  and  the  acres  under  cultivation  and  the 
height  of  the  peaks,  and  revel  in  large  statistics 
and  the  bigness  generally,  and  forget  how  a  few 
men  rattle  around  in  a  great  deal  of  scenery. 
They  shout  their  statistics  across  the  Rockies 
and  the  deserts  to  New  York.  The  Mississippi 
Valley  is  non-existent  to  the  Californian.  His 
fellow-feeling  is  for  the  opposite  coast-line. 
Through  the  geographical  accident  of  separa- 
tion by  mountain  and  desert  from  the  rest  of 
the  country,  he  becomes  a  mere  shouter,  hurrah- 
ing so  assiduously  that  all  variety  in  the  voice 
is  lost.  Then  he  tries  gestures,  and  becomes 
flamboyant,  rococo. 

These  are  the  defects  of  the  motion  picture 
qualities  also.  Its  panoramic  tendency  runs 
wild.  As  an  institution  it  advertises  itself 
with  the  sweeping  gesture.  It  has  the  same 
passion  for  coast-line.  These  are  not  the  sins 
of  New  England.  When,  in  the  hands  of 
masters,  they  become  sources  of  strength,  they 


222    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

will  be  a  different  set  of  virtues  from  those  of 
New  England. 

There  is  no  more  natural  place  for  the  scat- 
tering of  confetti  than  this  state,  except  the 
moving  picture  scene  itself.  Both  have  a  genius 
for  gardens  and  dancing  and  carnival. 

When  the  Californian  relegates  the  dramatic 
to  secondary  scenes,  both  in  his  life  and  his 
photoplay,  and  turns  to  the  genuinely  epic 
and  lyric,  he  and  this  instrument  may  find  their 
immortality  together  as  New  England  found 
its  soul  in  the  essays  of  Emerson.  Tide  upon 
tide  of  Spring  comes  into  California  through 
all  four  seasons.  Fairy  beauty  overwhelms 
the  lumbering  grand-stand  players.  The  tiniest 
garden  is  a  jewelled  pathway  of  wonder.  But 
the  Californian  cannot  shout  "orange  blossoms, 
orange  blossoms ;  heliotrope,  heliotrope ! "  He 
cannot  boom  forth  "roseleaves,  roseleaves"  so 
that  he  does  their  beauties  justice.  Here  is 
where  the  photoplay  can  begin  to  give  him  a 
more  delicate  utterance.  And  he  can  go  on 
into  stranger  things  and  evolve  all  the  Splendor 
Films  into  higher  types,  for  the  very  name  of 
California  is  splendor.  The  California  photo- 
playwright  can  base  his  Crowd  Picture  upon 
the  city-worshipping  mobs   of  San  Francisco. 


CALIFORNIA  AND  AMERICA         223 

He  can  derive  his  Patriotic  and  Religious  Splen- 
dors from  something  older  and  more  magnificent 
than  the  aisles  of  the  Romanesque,  namely : 
the  groves  of  the  giant  redwoods. 

The  campaign  for  a  beautiful  nation  could 
very  well  emanate  from  the  west  coast,  where 
with  the  slightest  care  grow  up  models  for  all 
the  world  of  plant  arrangement  and  tree- 
luxury.  Our  mechanical  East  is  reproved,  our 
tension  is  relaxed,  our  ugliness  is  challenged 
every  time  we  look  upon  those  garden  paths 
and  forests. 

It  is  possible  for  Los  Angeles  to  lay  hold  of 
the  motion  picture  as  our  national  text-book  in 
Art  as  Boston  appropriated  to  herself  the 
guardianship  of  the  national  text-books  of 
Literature.  If  California  has  a  shining  soul, 
and  not  merely  a  golden  body,  let  her  forget 
her  seventeen-year-old  melodramatics,  and 
turn  to  her  poets  who  understand  the  heart 
underneath  the  glory.  Edwin  Markham,  the 
dean  of  American  singers,  Clark  Ashton  Smith, 
the  young  star  treader,  George  Sterling,  that 
son  of  Ancient  Merlin,  have  in  their  songs  the 
seeds  of  better  scenarios  than  California  has 
sent  us.  There  are  two  poems  by  George 
Sterling  that  I  have  had  in  mind  for  many  a 


224    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

day  as  conceptions  that  should  inspire  mystic 
films  akin  to  them.  These  poems  are  The 
Night  Sentries  and  Tidal  King  of  Nations. 

But  California  can  tell  us  stories  that  are 
grim  children  of  the  tales  of  the  wild  Ambrose 
Bierce.  Then  there  is  the  lovely  unforgotten 
Nora  May  French  and  the  austere  Edward 
Rowland  Sill. 
I  Edison  is  the  new  Gutenberg.  He  has  in- 
vented the  new  printing.  The  state  that 
realizes  this  may  lead  the  soul  of  America, 
day  after  to-morrow. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PROGRESS  AND   ENDOWMENT 

The  moving  picture  goes  almost  as  far  as 
journalism  into  the  social  fabric  in  some  ways, 
further  in  others.  Soon,  no  doubt,  many  a 
little  town  will  have  its  photographic  news- 
press.  We  have  already  the  weekly  world-news 
films  from  the  big  centres. 

With  local  journalism  will  come  devices  for 
advertising  home  enterprises.  Some  staple 
products  will  be  made  attractive  by  having 
film-actors  show  their  uses.  The  motion  pic- 
tures will  be  in  the  public  schools  to  stay. 
Text-books  in  geography,  history,  zoology, 
botany,  physiology,  and  other  sciences  will  be 
illustrated  by  standardized  films.  Along  with 
these  changes,  there  will  be  available  at  certain 
centres  collections  of  films  equivalent  to  the 
Standard  Dictionary  and  the  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica. 

And  sooner  or  later  we  will  have  a  straight 
out  capture  of  a  complete  film  expression  by 

Q  225 


226    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  serious  forces  of  civilization.  The  merely 
impudent  motion  picture  will  be  relegated  to 
the  leisure  hours  with  yellow  journalism. 
Photoplay  libraries  are  inevitable,  as  active 
if  not  as  multitudinous  as  the  book-circulating 
libraries.  The  oncoming  machinery  and  ex- 
pense of  the  motion  picture  is  immense. 
Where  will  the  money  come  from.^^  No  one 
knows.  What  the  people  want  they  will  get. 
The  race  of  man  cannot  afford  automobiles, 
but  has  them  nevertheless.  We  cannot  run 
away  into  non-automobile  existence  or  non 
steam-engine  or  non-movie  life  long  at  a  time. 
We  must  conquer  this  thing.  While  the  more 
stately  scientific  and  educational  aspects  just 
enumerated  are  slowly  on  their  way,  the  artists 
must  be  up  and  about  their  ameliorative  work. 
Every  considerable  effort  to  develop  a  noble 
idiom  will  count  in  the  final  result,  as  the 
writers  of  early  English  made  possible  the 
language  of  the  Bible,  Shakespeare,  and  Milton. 
We  are  perfecting  a  medium  to  be  used  as 
long  as  Chinese  ideographs  have  been.  It 
will  no  doubt,  like  the  Chinese  language,  record 
in  the  end  massive  and  classical  treatises,  im- 
perial chronicles,  law-codes,  traditions,  and 
religious  admonitions.     All  this  by  the  motion 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       227 

picture  as  a  recording  instrument,  not  neces- 
sarily the  photoplay,  a  much  more  limited 
thing,  a  form  of  art. 

What  shall  be  done  in  especial  by  this  genera- 
tion of  idealists,  whose  flags  rise  and  go  down, 
whose  battle  line  wavers  and  breaks  a  thou- 
sand times  ?  WTiat  is  the  high  quixotic  splendid 
call?  We  know  of  a  group  of  public-spirited 
people  who  advocate,  in  endowed  films,  "safety 
first,"  another  that  champions  total  abstinence. 
Often  their  work  seems  lost  in  the  mass  of 
commercial  production,  but  it  is  a  good  begin- 
ning. Such  citizens  take  an  established  studio 
for  a  specified  time  and  at  the  end  put  on  the 
market  a  production  that  backs  up  their  par- 
ticular idea.  There  are  certain  terms  between 
the  owners  of  the  film  and  the  proprietors  of 
the  studio  for  the  division  of  the  income,  the 
profits  of  the  cult  being  spent  on  further 
propaganda.  The  product  need  not  necessarily 
be  the  type  outlined  in  chapter  two,  The  Photo- 
play of  Action.  Often  some  other  sort  might 
establish  the  cause  more  deeply.  But  most  of 
the  propaganda  films  are  of  the  action  variety, 
because  of  the  dynamic  character  of  the  people 
who  produce  them.  Fired  by  fanatic  zeal,  the 
auto  speeds  faster,  the  rescuing  hero  runs  harder. 


228    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  stern  policeman  and  sheriff  become  more 
jumpy,  all  that  the  audience  may  be  converted. 
Here  if  anywhere  meditation  on  the  actual  re- 
sources of  charm  and  force  in  the  art  is  a  fitting 
thing.  The  crusader  should  realize  that  it  is 
not  a  good  Action  Play  nor  even  a  good  argu- 
ment unless  it  is  indeed  the  Winged  Victory 
sort.  The  gods  are  not  always  on  the  side  of 
those  who  throw  fits. 

There  is  here  appended  a  newspaper  descrip- 
tion of  a  crusading  film,  that,  despite  the  im- 
plications of  the  notice,  has  many  passages 
of  charm.  It  is  two-thirds  Action  Photoplay, 
one-third  Intimate-and-friendly.  The  notice 
does  not  imply  that  at  times  the  story  takes 
pains  to  be  gentle.  This  bit  of  writing  is  all 
too  typical  of  film  journalism. 

"Not  only  as  an  argument  for  suffrage  but 
as  a  play  with  a  story,  a  punch,  and  a  mission, 
'Your  Girl  and  Mine'  is  produced  under  the 
direction  of  the  National  Woman's  Suffrage 
Association  at  the  Capitol  to-day. 

"Olive  Wyndham  forsook  the  legitimate 
stage  for  the  time  to  pose  as  the  heroine  of 
the  play.  Katherine  Kaelred,  leading  lady  of 
'Joseph  and  his  Brethren,'  took  the  part  of  a 
woman  lawyer  battling  for  the  right.     Sydney 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       229 

Booth,  of  the  *  Yellow  Ticket'  company  posed 
as  the  hero  of  the  experiment.  John  Charles 
and  Katharine  Henry  played  the  villain  and 
the  honest  working  girl.  About  three  hundred 
secondaries  were  engaged  along  with  the  prin- 
cipals. 

"It  is  melodrama  of  the  most  thrilling  sort, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  there  is  a  moral  con- 
cealed in  the  very  title  of  the  play.  But  who 
is  worried  by  a  moral  in  a  play  which  has  an 
exciting  hand-to-hand  fight  between  a  man 
and  a  woman  in  one  of  the  earliest  acts,  when 
the  quick  march  of  events  ranges  from  a  wedding 
to  a  murder  and  an  automobile  abduction  scene 
that  breaks  all  former  speed-records.  *The 
Cause'  comes  in  most  symbolically  and  poeti- 
cally, a  symbolic  figure  that  'fades  out'  at 
critical  periods  in  the  plot.  Dr.  Anna  Howard 
Shaw,  the  famous  suffrage  leader,  appears 
personally  in  the  film. 

***Your  Girl  and  Mine'  is  a  big  play  with  a 
big  mission  built  on  a  big  scale.  It  is  a  whole 
evening's  entertainment,  and  a  very  interesting 
evening  at  that."  Here  endeth  the  newspaper 
notice.  Compare  it  with  the  Biograph  ad- 
vertisement of  Judith  in  chapter  six. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  film  that  rasps  like 


230    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

this  account  of  it.  The  cHpping  serves  to 
give  the  street-atmosphere  through  which  our 
Woman's  suffrage  Joan  of  Arcs  move  to  con- 
quest and  glory  with  unstained  banners. 

The  obvious  amendments  to  the  production 
as  an  instrument  of  persuasion  are  two.  Firstly 
there  should  be  five  reels  instead  of  six,  every 
scene  shortened  a  bit  to  bring  this  result. 
Secondly,  the  lieutenant  governor  of  the  state, 
who  is  the  Rudolph  Rassyndyl  of  the  produc- 
tion, does  not  enter  the  story  soon  enough,  and 
is  too  James  K.  Hacketty  all  at  once.  We  are 
jerked  into  admiration  of  him,  rather  than  en- 
snared. But  after  that  the  gentleman  behaves 
more  handsomely  than  any  of  the  distinguished 
lieutenant  governors  in  real  life  the  present 
writer  happens  to  remember.  The  figure  of 
Aunt  Jane,  the  queenly  serious  woman  of 
affairs,  is  one  to  admire  and  love.  Her  effec- 
tiveness without  excess  or  strain  is  in  itself  an 
argument  for  giving  woman  the  vote.  The 
newspaper  notice  does  not  state  the  facts  in 
saying  the  symbolical  figure  "fades  out"  at 
critical  periods  in  the  plot.  On  the  contrary, 
she  appears  at  critical  periods,  clothed  in  white, 
solemn  and  royal.  She  comes  into  the  groups 
with  an  adequate  allurement,  pointing  the  moral 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       231 

of  each  situation  while  she  shines  brightest. 
The  two  children  for  whom  the  contest  is  fought 
are  winsome  Httle  girls.  By  the  side  of  their 
mother  in  the  garden  or  in  the  nursery  they 
are  a  potent  argument  for  the  natural  rights 
of  femininity.  The  film  is  by  no  means  ultra- 
aesthetic.  The  implications  of  the  clipping  are 
correct  to  that  degree.  But  the  resources  of 
beauty  within  the  ready  command  of  the  ad- 
vising professional  producer  are  used  by  the 
women  for  all  they  are  worth.  It  could  not 
be  asked  of  them  that  they  evolve  technical 
novelties. 

Yet  the  figures  of  Aunt  Jane  and  the  Goddess 
of  Suffrage  are  something  new  in  their  fashion. 
Aunt  Jane  is  a  spiritual  sister  to  that  unprec- 
edented woman,  Jane  Addams,  who  went  to 
the  Hague  conference  for  Peace  in  the  midst  of 
war,  which  heroic  action  the  future  will  not 
forget.  Aunt  Jane  does  justice  to  that  breed 
of  women  amid  the  sweetness  and  flowers  and 
mere  scenario  perils  of  the  photoplay  story.  The 
presence  of  the  "Votes  for  Women"  figure  is 
the  beginning  of  a  line  of  photoplay  goddesses 
that  serious  propaganda  in  the  new  medium 
will  make  part  of  the  American  Spiritual 
Hierarchy.     In    the    imaginary    film    of    Our 


232    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Lady  Springfield,  described  in  the  chapter  on 
Architecture-in-Motion,  a  kindred  divinity  is 
presumed  to  stand  by  the  side  of  the  statue 
when  it  first  reaches  the  earth. 

High-minded  graduates  of  university  courses 
in  sociology  and  schools  of  philanthropy,  de- 
vout readers  of  The  Survey,  The  Chicago 
Public,  The  Masses,  The  New  Republic,  La 
FoUett's,  are  going  to  advocate  increasingly, 
their  varied  and  sometimes  contradictory 
causes,  in  films.  These  will  generally  be  pro- 
duced by  heroic  exertions  in  the  studio,  and 
much  passing  of  the  subscription  paper  out- 
side. 

Then  there  are  endowments  already  in  ex- 
istence that  will  no  doubt  be  diverted  to  the 
photoplay  channel.  In  every  state  house,  and 
in  Washington,  D.C.,  increasing  quantities  of 
dead  printed  matter  have  been  turned  out 
year  after  year.  They  have  served  to  kindle 
various  furnaces  and  feed  the  paper-mills  a 
second  time.  Many  of  these  routine  reports 
will  remain  in  innocuous  desuetude.  But  one- 
fourth  of  them,  perhaps,  are  capable  of  being 
embodied  in  films.  If  they  are  scientific 
demonstrations,  they  can  be  made  into  realistic 
motion  picture  records.     If  they  are  exhorta- 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       233 

tions,  they  can  be  transformed  into  plays  with 
a  moral,  brothers  of  the  film  Your  Girl  and 
Mine.  The  appropriations  for  public  print- 
ing should  include  such  work  hereafter. 

The  scientific  museums  distribute  routine 
pamphlets  that  would  set  the  whole  world 
right  on  certain  points  if  they  were  but  read 
by  said  world.  Let  them  be  filmed  and  started. 
Whatever  the  congressman  is  permitted  to 
frank  to  his  constituency,  let  him  send  in  the 
motion  picture  form  when  it  is  the  expedient 
and  expressive  way. 

When  men  work  for  the  high  degrees  in  the 
universities,  they  labor  on  a  piece  of  literary 
conspiracy  called  a  thesis  which  no  one  outside 
the  university  hears  of  again.  The  gist  of  this 
research  work  that  is  dead  to  the  democracy, 
through  the  university  merits  of  thoroughness, 
moderation  of  statement,  and  final  touch  of 
discovery,  would  have  a  chance  to  live  and  grip 
the  people  in  a  motion  picture  transcript,  if  not 
a  photoplay.  It  would  be  University  Exten- 
sion. The  relentless  fire  of  criticism  which  the 
heads  of  the  departments  would  pour  on  the 
production  before  they  allowed  it  to  pass  would 
result  in  a  standardization  of  the  sense  of  scien- 
tific fact  over  the  land.     Suppose  the  film  has 


234    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  coat  of  arms  of  the  University  of  Chicago 
along  with  the  name  of  the  young  graduate 
whose  thesis  it  is.  He  would  have  a  chance 
to  reflect  credit  on  the  university  even  as  much 
as  a  foot-ball  player. 

Large  undertakings  might  be  under  way,  like 
those  described  in  the  chapter  on  Architecture- 
in-Motion.  But  these  would  require  much 
more  than  the  ordinary  outlay  for  thesis 
work,  less,  perhaps,  than  is  taken  for  Athletics. 
Lyman  Howe  and  several  other  world-explorers 
have  already  set  the  pace  in  the  more  hu- 
man side  of  the  educative  film.  The  list  of 
Mr.  Howe's  offerings  from  the  first  would 
reveal  many  a  one  that  would  have  run  the 
gauntlet  of  a  university  department.  He 
points  out  a  new  direction  for  old  energies, 
whereby  professors  may  become  citizens. 

Let  the  cave-man,  reader  of  picture-writing, 
be  allowed  to  ponder  over  scientific  truth.  He 
is  at  present  the  victim  of  the  alleged  truth  of 
the  specious  and  sentimental  variety  of  photo- 
graph. It  gives  the  precise  edges  of  the  coat 
or  collar  of  the  smirking  masher  and  the  exact 
fibre  in  the  dress  of  the  jumping- jack.  The 
eye  grows  weary  of  sharp  points  and  hard  edges 
that  mean  nothing.     All  this  idiotic  precision 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       235 

is  going  to  waste.  It  should  be  enlisted  in  the 
cause  of  science  and  abated  everywhere  else. 
The  edges  in  art  are  as  mysterious  as  in  science 
they  are  exact. 

Some  of  the  higher  forms  of  the  Intimate 
Moving  Picture  play  should  be  endowed  by 
local  coteries  representing  their  particular  re- 
gion. Every  community  of  fifty  thousand  has 
its  group  of  the  cultured  who  have  heretofore 
studied  and  imitated  things  done  in  the  big 
cities.  Some  of  these  coteries  will  in  excep- 
tional cases  become  creative  and  begin  to  ex- 
press their  habitation  and  name.  The  Intimate 
Photoplay  is  capable  of  that  delicacy  and  that 
informality  which  should  characterize  neighbor- 
hood enterprises. 

The  plays  could  be  acted  by  the  group  who, 
season  after  season,  have  secured  the  opera 
house  for  the  annual  amateur  show.  Other 
dramatic  ability  could  be  found  in  the  high- 
schools.  There  is  enough  talent  in  any  place 
to  make  an  artistic  revolution,  if  once  that 
region  is  aflame  with  a  common  vision.  The 
spirit  that  made  the  Irish  Players,  all  so  racy 
of  the  soil,  can  also  move  the  company  of  local 
photoplayers  in  Topeka,  or  Indianapolis,  or 
Denver.     Then  let  them  speak  for  their  town, 


236    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

not  only  in  great  occasional  enterprises,  but 
steadily,  in  little  fancies,  genre  pictures,  de- 
veloping a  technique  that  will  finally  make 
magnificence  possible. 

There  was  given  not  long  ago,  at  the  Illinois 
Country  Club  here,  a  performance  of  The 
Yellow  Jacket  by  the  Coburn  Players.  It  at 
once  seemed  an  integral  part  of  this  chapter. 

The  two  flags  used  for  a  chariot,  the  bamboo 
poles  for  oars,  the  red  sack  for  a  decapitated 
head,  etc.,  were  all  convincing,  through  a  direct 
resemblance  as  well  as  the  passionate  acting. 
They  suggest  a  possible  type  of  hieroglyphics  to 
be  developed  by  the  leader  of  the  local  group. 

Let  the  enthusiast  study  this  westernized 
Chinese  play  for  primitive  representative 
methods.  It  can  be  found  in  book  form,  a  most 
readable  work.  It  is  by  G.  C.  Hazel  ton,  Jr., 
and  J.  H.  Benrimo.  The  resemblance  between 
the  stage  property  and  the  thing  represented 
is  fairly  close.  The  moving  flags  on  each  side  of 
the  actor  suggest  the  actual  color  and  progress 
of  the  chariot,  and  abstractly  suggest  its  mag- 
nificence. The  red  sack  used  for  a  bloody  head 
has  at  least  the  color  and  size  of  one.*  The 
dressed-up  block  of  wood  used  for  a  child  is  the 
length  of  an  infant  of  the  age  described  and 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       237 

wears  the  general  costume  thereof.  The  farm- 
er's hoe,  though  exaggerated,  is  still  an  agri- 
cultural implement. 

The  evening's  list  of  properties  is  economical, 
filling  one  wagon,  rather  than  three.  Photo- 
graphic realism  is  splendidly  put  to  rout  by 
powerful  representation.  When  the  villager 
desires  to  embody  some  episode  that  if  realis- 
tically-given  would  require  a  setting  beyond 
the  means  of  the  available  endowment,  and 
does  not  like  the  near-Egyptian  method,  let 
him  evolve  his  near-Chinese  set  of  symbols. 

The  Yellow  Jacket  was  written  after  long 
familiarity  with  the  Chinese  Theatre  in  San 
Francisco.  The  play  is  a  glory  to  that  city  as 
well  as  to  Hazleton  and  Benrimo.  But  every 
town  in  the  United  States  has  something  as 
striking  as  the  Chinese  Theatre,  to  the  man 
who  keeps  the  eye  of  his  soul  open.  It  has  its 
Ministerial  Association,  its  boy's  secret  society, 
its  red-eyed  political  gang,  its  grubby  Justice 
of  the  Peace  court,  its  free  school  for  the  teach- 
ing of  Hebrew,  its  snobbish  chapel,  its  fire- 
engine  house,  its  milliner's  shop.  All  these 
could  be  made  visible  in  photoplays  as  flies  are 
preserved  in  amber. 

Edgar  Lee  Masters  looked  about  him  and 


238    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

discovered  the  village  graveyard,  and  made  it 
as  wonderful  as  Noah's  ark,  or  Adam  naming 
the  animals,  by  supplying  honest  inscriptions 
to  the  headstones.  Such  stories  can  be  told 
by  the  Chinese  theatrical  system  as  well.  As 
many  different  films  could  be  included  under 
the  general  title:  "Seven  Old  Families,  and 
Why  they  Went  to  Smash."  Or  a  less  ominous 
series  would  be  "Seven  Victorious  Souls."  For 
there  are  triumphs  every  day  under  the  drab 
monotony  of  an  apparently  defeated  town: 
conquests  worthy  of  the  waving  of  sun-banners. 
Above  all,  The  Yellow  Jacket  points  a  moral 
for  this  chapter  because  there  was  conscience 
behind  it.  First :  the  rectitude  of  the  Chinese 
actors  of  San  Francisco  who  kept  the  dramatic 
tradition  alive,  a  tradition  that  was  bequeathed 
from  the  ancient  generations.  Then  the  artistic 
integrity  of  the  men  who  readapted  the  tradi- 
tion for  western  consumption,  and  their  re- 
ligious attitude  that  kept  the  high  teaching 
and  devout  feeling  for  human  life  intact  in  the 
play.  Then  the  zeal  of  the  Drama  League  that 
indorsed  it  for  the  country.  Then  the  earnest 
work  of  the  Coburn  Players  who  embodied  it 
devoutly,  so  that  the  whole  company  became 
dear  friends  forever. 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       239 

By  some  such  ladder  of  conscience  as  this 
can  the  local  scenario  be  endowed,  written, 
acted,  filmed,  and  made  a  real  part  of  the  com- 
munity life.  The  Yellow  Jacket  was  a  drama, 
not  a  photoplay.  This  chapter  does  not  urge 
that  it  be  readapted  for  a  photoplay  in  San 
Francisco  or  anywhere  else.  But  a  kindred 
painting-in-motion,  something  as  beautiful  and 
worthy  and  intimate,  in  strictly  photoplay 
terms,  might  well  be  the  flower  of  the  work  of 
the  local  groups  of  film  actors. 

All  the  world  is  talking  of  the  new  sect  of 
poets,  called  the  Imagists.  They  are  led  by 
Ezra  Pound,  Richard  Aldington,  John  Gould 
Fletcher,  Amy  Lowell,  F.  S.  Flint,  D.  H. 
Lawrence,  and  others.  They  are  gathering 
followers  and  imitators.  To  these  followers  I 
would  say :  the  Imagist  impulse  need  not  be 
confined  to  verse.  Why  would  you  be  imita- 
tors of  these  leaders  when  you  might  be  creators 
in  a  new  medium  .^^  There  is  a  clear  parallel- 
ism between  their  point  of  view  in  verse  and 
the  Intimate-and-friendly  Photoplay,  especially 
when  it  is  developed  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
last  part  of  chapter  nine,  space  measured  with- 
out sound  plus  time  measured  vnthout  sound. 

There  is  no  clan  to-day  more  purely  devoted 


240    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

to  art  for  art's  sake  than  the  Imagist  clan. 
An  Imagist  film  would  offer  a  noble  chal- 
lenge to  the  overstrained  emotion,  the  over- 
loaded splendor,  the  mere  repetition  of  what 
are  at  present  the  finest  photoplays.  Now 
even  the  masterpieces  are  incontinent.  Ex- 
cept for  some  of  the  old  one-reel  Biographs 
of  Griffith's  beginning,  there  is  nothing  of  Doric 
restraint  from  the  best  to  the  worst.  Read 
some  of  the  poems  of  the  people  listed  above, 
then  imagine  the  same  moods  in  the  films. 
Imagist  photoplays  would  be  Japanese  prints 
taking  on  life,  animated  Japanese  paintings, 
Pompeian  mosaics  in  kaleidoscopic  but  logical 
succession,  Beardsley  drawings  made  into  actors 
and  scenery,  Greek  vase-paintings  in  motion. 

Scarcely  a  photoplay  but  hints  at  the  Im- 
agists  in  one  scene.  Then  the  illusion  is  lost 
in  the  next  turn  of  the  reel.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  a  sound  observance  to  confine  this  form  of 
motion  picture  to  a  half  reel  or  quarter  reel, 
just  as  the  Imagist  poem  is  generally  a  half  or 
quarter  page.  A  series  of  them  could  fill  a 
special  evening. 

The  imagists  are  colorists.  Some  people  do 
not  consider  that  photographic  black,  white, 
and  gray  are  color.     But  here  for  instance  are 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       241 

seven  colors  which  the  Imagists  might  use : 
(1)  The  whiteness  of  swans  in  the  light.  (2)  The 
whiteness  of  swans  in  a  gentle  shadow.  (3)  The 
color  of  a  sunburned  man  in  the  light.  (4)  His 
color  in  a  gentle  shadow.  (5)  His  color  in  a 
deeper  shadow.  (6)  The  blackness  of  black 
velvet  in  the  light.  (7)  The  blackness  of  black 
velvet  in  a  deep  shadow.  And  to  use  these 
colors  with  definite  steps  from  one  to  the  other 
does  not  militate  against  an  artistic  mystery 
of  edge  and  softness  in  the  flow  of  line.  There 
is  a  list  of  possible  Imagist  textures  which  is 
only  limited  by  the  number  of  things  to  be 
seen  in  the  world.  Probably  only  seven  or 
ten  would  be  used  in  one  scheme  and  the  same 
list  kept  through  one  production. 

The  Imagist  photoplay  will  put  discipline 
into  the  inner  ranks  of  the  enlightened  and 
remind  the  sculptors,  painters,  and  architects 
of  the  movies  that  there  is  a  continence  even 
beyond  sculpture  and  that  seas  of  realism  may 
not  have  the  power  of  a  little  well-considered 
ehmination. 

The  use  of  the  scientific  film  by  established 
institutions  like  schools  and  state  governments 
has  been  discussed.  Let  the  church  also,  in 
her  own  way,  avail  herself  of  the  motion  picture. 


242    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

whole-heartedly,  as  in  mediaeval  time  she  took 
over  the  marvel  of  Italian  painting.  There 
was  a  stage  in  her  history  when  religious  rep- 
resentation was  by  Byzantine  mosaics,  noble 
in  color,  having  an  architectural  use,  but  curious 
indeed  to  behold  from  the  standpoint  of  those 
who  crave  a  sensitive  emotional  record.  The 
first  paintings  of  Cimabue  and  Giotto,  giving 
these  formulas  a  touch  of  life,  were  hailed  with 
joy  by  all  Italy.  Now  the  Church  Universal 
has  an  opportunity  to  establish  her  new  painters 
if  she  will.  She  has  taken  over  in  the  course  of 
history,  for  her  glory,  miracle  plays,  Roman- 
esque and  Gothic  architecture,  stained  glass 
windows,  and  the  music  of  St.  Cecilia's  organ. 
Why  not  this  new  splendor.^  The  Cathedral 
of  St.  John  the  Divine,  on  Morningside  Heights, 
should  establish  in  its  crypt  motion  pictures 
as  thoroughly  considered  as  the  lines  of  that 
building,  if  possible  designed  by  the  architects 
thereof,  with  the  same  sense  of  permanency. 

This  chapter  does  not  advocate  that  the 
Church  lay  hold  of  the  photoplays  as  one  more 
medium  for  reillustrating  the  stories  of  the 
Bible  as  they  are  given  in  the  Sunday-school 
papers.  It  is  not  pietistic  simpering  that  will 
feed  the  spirit  of  Christendom,  but  a  steady 


PROGRESS  AND  ENDOWMENT       243 

church-patronage  of  the  most  skilful  and 
original  motion  picture  artists.  Let  the  Church 
follow  the  precedent  which  finally  gave  us  Fra 
Angelico,  Botticelli,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Leo- 
nardo da  Vinci,  Raphael,  Michelangelo,  Cor- 
reggio,  Titian,  Paul  Veronese,  Tintoretto,  and 
the  rest. 

Who  will  endow  the  successors  of  the  present 
woman's  suffrage  film,  and  other  great  crusad- 
ing films  ?  Who  will  see  that  the  public  docu- 
ments and  university  researches  take  on  the 
form  of  motion  pictures  ?  Who  will  endow  the 
local  photoplay  and  the  Imagist  photoplay? 
Who  will  take  the  first  great  measures  to  insure 
motion  picture  splendors  in  the  church  ? 

Things  such  as  these  come  on  the  winds  of 
to-morrow.  But  let  the  crusader  look  about 
him,  and  where  it  is  possible,  put  in  the  dip- 
lomatic word,  and  cooperate  with  the  Gray 
Norns. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ARCHITECTS  AS   CRUSADERS 

Many  a  worker  sees  his  future  America  as  a 
Utopia,  in  which  his  own  profession,  achieving 
dictatorship,  alleviates  the  ills  of  men.  The 
militarist  grows  dithyrambic  in  showing  how 
war  makes  for  the  blessings  of  peace.  The 
economic  teacher  argues  that  if  we  follow  his 
political  economy,  none  of  us  will  have  to  econo- 
mize. The  church-fanatic  says  if  all  churches 
will  merge  with  his  organization,  none  of  them 
will  have  to  try  to  behave  again.  They  will  just 
naturally  be  good.  The  physician  hopes  to 
abolish  the  devil  by  sanitation.  We  have  our 
Utopias.  Despite  levity,  the  present  writer 
thinks  that  such  hopes  are  among  the  most 
useful  things  the  earth  possesses. 

A  normal  man  in  the  full  tide  of  his  activities 
finds  that  a  world-machinery  could  logically 
be  built  up  by  his  profession.  At  least  in  the 
heyday  of  his  working  hours  his  vocation  satis- 
fies his  heart.     So  he  wants  the  entire  human 


ARCHITECTS  AS  CRUSADERS        245 

race  to  taste  that  satisfaction.  Approximate 
Utopias  have  been  built  from  the  beginning. 
Many  civilizations  have  had  some  dominant 
craft  to  carry  them  the  major  part  of  the  way. 
The  priests  have  made  India.  The  classical 
student  has  preserved  Old  China  to  its  present 
hour  of  new  life.  The  samurai  knights  have 
made  Japan.  Sailors  have  evolved  the  British 
Empire.  One  of  the  enticing  future  Americas 
is  that  of  the  architect.  Let  the  architect  ap- 
propriate the  photoplay  as  his  means  of  prop- 
aganda and  begin.  From  its  intrinsic  genius 
it  can  give  his  profession  a  start  beyond  all 
others  in  dominating  this  land.  Or  such  is  one 
of  many  speculations  of  the  present  writer. 

The  photoplay  can  speak  the  language  of  the 
man  who  has  a  mind  World's  Fair  size.  That 
we  are  going  to  have  successive  generations  of 
such  builders  may  be  reasonably  implied  from 
past  expositions.  Beginning  with  Philadelphia 
in  1876,  and  going  on  to  San  Francisco  and  San 
Diego  in  1915,  nothing  seems  to  stop  us  from 
the  habit.  Let  us  enlarge  this  proclivity  into 
a  national  mission  in  as  definite  a  movement, 
as  thoroughly  thought  out  as  the  evolution  of 
the  public  school  system,  the  formation  of  the 
steel  trust,  and  the  like.     After  duly  weighing 


246    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

all  the  world's  fairs,  let  our  architects  set  about 
making  the  whole  of  the  United  States  into  a 
permanent  one.  Supposing  the  date  to  begin 
the  erection  be  1930.  Till  that  time  there 
should  be  tireless  if  indirect;  propaganda  that 
will  further  the  architectural  state  of  mind, 
and  later  bring  about  the  elucidation  of  the 
plans  while  they  are  being  perfected.  For 
many  years  this  America,  founded  on  the  psy- 
chology of  the  Splendor  Photoplay,  will  be 
evolving.  It  might  be  conceived  as  a  going 
concern  at  a  certain  date  within  the  lives  of 
men  now  living,  but  it  should  never  cease  to 
develop. 

To  make  films  of  a  more  beautiful  United 
States  is  as  practical  and  worth  while  a  custom 
as  to  make  military  spy  maps  of  every  inch 
of  a  neighbor's  territory,  putting  in  each  fence 
and  cross-roads.  Those  who  would  satisfy  the 
national  pride  with  something  besides  battle 
flags  must  give  our  people  an  objective  as 
shining  and  splendid  as  war  when  it  is  most 
glittering,  something  Napoleonic,  and  with  no 
outward  pretence  of  excessive  virtue.  We  want 
a  substitute  as  dramatic  internationally,  yet 
world-winning,  friend  making.  If  America  is 
to  become  the  financial  centre  through  no  fault 


ARCHITECTS  AS  CRUSADERS        247 

of  her  own,  that  fact  must  have  a  symbol  other 
than  guns  on  the  sea-coast. 

If  it  is  inexpedient  for  the  architectural 
patriarchs  and  their  young  hopefuls  to  take 
over  the  films  bodily,  let  a  board  of  strategy 
be  formed  who  make  it  their  business  to  eat 
dinner  with  the  scenario  writers,  producers,  and 
owners,  conspiring  with  them  in  some  practical 
way. 

Why  should  we  not  consider  ourselves  a 
deathless  Panama-Pacific  Exposition  on  a  coast- 
to-coast  scale  ?  Let  Chicago  be  the  transporta- 
tion building,  Denver  the  mining  building. 
Let  Kansas  City  be  the  agricultural  building 
and  Jacksonville,  Florida,  the  horticultural 
building,  and  so  around  the  states. 

Even  as  in  mediaeval  times  men  rode  for  hun- 
dreds of  miles  through  perils  to  the  permanent 
fairs  of  the  free  cities,  the  world-travellers  will  at- 
tend this  exhibit,  and  many  of  them  will  in  the 
end  become  citizens.  Our  immigration  will  be 
something  more  than  tide  upon  tide  of  raw  labor. 
The  Architects  would  send  forth  publicity  films 
which  are  not  only  delineations  of  a  future 
Cincinnati,  Cleveland,  or  St.  Louis,  but  whole 
counties  and  states  and  groups  of  states  could 
be  planned  at  one  time,  with  the  development 


248    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

of  their  natural  fauna,  flora,  and  forestry. 
Wherever  nature  has  been  rendered  desolate 
by  industry  or  mere  haste,  there  let  the  architect 
and  park-architect  proclaim  the  plan.  Wher- 
ever she  is  still  splendid  and  untamed,  let  her 
not  be  violated. 

America  is  in  the  state  of  mind  where  she 
must  visualize  herself  again.  If  it  is  not  possible 
to  bring  in  the  New  Jerusalem  to-day,  by  public 
act,  with  every  citizen  eating  bread  and  honey 
under  his  vine  and  fig-tree,  owning  forty  acres 
and  a  mule,  singing  hymns  and  saying  prayers 
all  his  leisure  hours,  it  is  still  reasonable  to 
think  out  tremendous  things  the  American 
people  can  do,  in  the  light  of  what  they  have 
done,  without  sacrificing  any  of  their  native 
cussedness  or  kick.  It  was  sprawling  Chicago 
that  in  1893  achieved  the  White  City.  The 
automobile  routes  bind  the  states  together  closer 
than  muddy  counties  were  held  in  1893.  A 
"  Permanent  World's  Fair  "  may  be  a  phrase  dis- 
tressing to  the  literal  mind.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  better  to  say  "An  Architect's  America." 

Let  each  city  take  expert  counsel  from  the 
architectural  demigods  how  to  tear  out  the 
dirty  core  of  its  principal  business  square  and 
erect  a  combination  of  civic  centre  and  per- 


ARCHITECTS  AS  CRUSADERS        249 

manent  and  glorious  bazaar.  Let  the  public 
debate  the  types  of  state  flower,  tree,  and 
shrub  that  are  expedient,  the  varieties  of  vil- 
lages and  middle-sized  towns,  farm-homes,  and 
connecting  parkways. 

Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  the  American 
expositions  are  as  characteristic  things  as  our 
land  has  achieved.  They  went  through  without 
hesitation.  The  difficulties  of  one  did  not  deter 
the  erection  of  the  next.  The  United  States  may 
be  in  many  things  slack.  Often  the  democracy 
looks  hopelessly  shoddy.  But  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  our  people  have  always  risen  to  the 
dignity  of  these  great  architectural  projects. 

Once  the  population  understands  they  are 
dealing  with  the  same  type  of  idea  on  a  grander 
scale,  they  will  follow  to  the  end.  We  are  not 
proposing  an  economic  revolution,  or  that 
human  nature  be  suddenly  altered.  If  California 
can  remain  in  the  World's  Fair  state  of  mind  for 
four  or  five  years,  and  finally  achieve  such  a  splen- 
did result,  all  the  states  can  undertake  a  similar 
project  conjointly,  and  because  of  the  momen- 
tum of  a  nation  moving  together,  remain  in  that 
mind  for  the  length  of  the  life  of  a  man. 

Here  we  have  this  great  instrument,  the 
motion  picture,  the  fourth  largest  industry  in 


250    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTUEE 

the  United  States,  attended  daily  by  ten  million 
people,  and  in  ten  days  by  a  hundred  million, 
capable  of  interpreting  the  largest  conceivable 
ideas  that  come  within  the  range  of  the  plastic 
arts,  and  those  ideas  have  not  been  supplied. 
It  is  still  the  plaything  of  newly  rich  vaudeville 
managers.  The  nation  goes  daily,  through 
intrinsic  interest  in  the  device,  and  is  dosed  with 
such  continued  stories  as  the  Adventures  of 
Kathlyn,  What  happened  to  Mary,  and  the 
Million  Dollar  Mystery,  stretched  on  through 
reel  after  reel,  week  after  week.  Kathlyn 
had  no  especial  adventures.  Nothing  in  par- 
ticular happened  to  Mary.  The  million  dollar 
mystery  was :  why  did  the  millionaires  who 
owned  such  a  magnificent  instrument  descend 
to  such  silliness  and  impose  it  on  the  people.'* 
Why  cannot  our  weekly  story  be  henceforth 
some  great  plan  that  is  being  worked  out,  whose 
history  will  delight  us.^^  For  instance,  every 
stage  of  the  building  of  the  Panama  Canal 
was  followed  with  the  greatest  interest  in  the 
films.  But  there  was  not  enough  of  it  to  keep 
the  films  busy. 

The  great  material  projects  are  often  easier 
to  realize  than  the  little  moral  reforms.  Beau- 
tiful architectural  undertakings,  while  appearing 


ARCHITECTS  AS  CRUSADERS        251 

to  be  material,  and  succeeding  by  the  laws  of 
American  enterprise,  bring  with  them  the  heal- 
ing hand  of  beauty.  Beauty  is  not  directly 
pious,  but  does  more  civilizing  in  its  proper 
hour  than  many  sermons  or  laws. 

The  world  seems  to  be  in  the  hands  of  ad- 
venturers. Why  not  this  for  the  adventure  of 
the  American  architects  .^^  If  something  akin 
to  this  plan  does  not  come  to  pass  through 
photoplay  propaganda,  it  means  there  is  no 
American  builder  with  the  blood  of  Julius  Caesar 
in  his  veins.  If  there  is  the  old  brute  lust  for 
empire  left  in  any  builder,  let  him  awake.  The 
world  is  before  him. 

As  for  the  other  Utopians,  the  economist, 
the  physician,  the  puritan,  as  soon  as  the  archi- 
tects have  won  over  the  photoplay  people, 
let  these  others  take  sage  counsel  and  ensnare 
the  architects.  Is  there  a  reform  worth  while 
that  cannot  be  embodied  and  enforced  by  a 
builder's  invention  ?  A  mere  city  plan,  carried 
out,  or  the  name  or  intent  of  a  quasi-public 
building  and  the  list  of  offices  within  it  may  bring 
about  more  salutary  economic  change  than  all 
the  debating  and  voting  imaginable.  So  with- 
out too  much  theorizing,  why  not  erect  our 
new  America  and  move  into  it  ? 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ON   COMING   FORTH   BY   DAY 

If  he  will  be  so  indulgent  with  his  author, 
let  the  reader  approach  the  photoplay  theatre 
as  though  for  the  first  time,  having  again  a 
new  point  of  view.  Here  the  poorest  can  pay 
and  enter  from  the  glaring  afternoon  into  the 
twilight  of  an  Ali  B aba's  cave.  The  dime 
is  the  single  open-sesame  required.  The  half- 
light  wherein  the  audience  is  seated,  by  which 
they  can  read  in  an  emergency,  is  as  bright 
and  dark  as  that  of  some  candle-lit  churches. 
It  reveals  much  in  the  faces  and  figures  of 
the  audience  that  cannot  be  seen  by  common 
day.  Hard  edges  are  the  main  things  that 
we  lose.  The  gain  is  in  all  the  delicacies  of 
modelling,  tone-relations,  form,  and  color.  A 
hundred  evanescent  impressions  come  and  go 
There  is  often  a  tenderness  of  appeal  about  the 
most  rugged  face  in  the  assembly.  Humanity 
takes  on  its  sacred  aspect.  It  is  a  crude  mind 
that  would  insist  that  these  appearances  are 

252 


ON  COMING  FORTH  BY  DAY       253 

not  real,  that  the  eye  does  not  see  them  when 
all  eyes  behold  them.  To  say  dogmatically 
that  any  new  thing  seen  by  half-light  is  an  illu- 
sion, is  like  arguing  that  a  discovery  by  the 
telescope  or  microscope  is  unreal.  If  the  ap- 
pearances are  beautiful  besides,  they  are  not 
only  facts,  but  assets  in  our  lives. 

Book-reading  is  not  done  in  the  direct  noon- 
sunlight.  We  retire  to  the  shaded  porch.  It 
takes  two  more  steps  toward  quietness  of  light 
to  read  the  human  face  and  figure.  Many  great 
paintings  and  poems  are  records  of  things  dis- 
covered in  this  quietness  of  light. 

It  is  indeed  ironical  in  our  Ali  B aba's  cave  to 
see  sheer  everydayness  and  hardness  upon 
the  screen,  the  audience  dragged  back  to  the 
street  they  have  escaped.  One  of  the  inven- 
tions to  bring  the  twilight  of  the  gathering  into 
brotherhood  with  the  shadows  on  the  screen  is 
a  simple  thing  known  to  the  trade  as  the  fade- 
away, that  had  its  rise  in  a  commonplace  fashion 
as  a  method  of  keeping  the  story  from  ending 
with  the  white  glare  of  the  empty  screen.  As 
a  result  of  the  device  the  figures  in  the  first 
episode  emerge  from  the  dimness  and  in  the  last 
one  go  back  into  the  shadow  whence  they  came, 
as  foam  returns  to  the  darkness  of  an  evening 


254    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

sea.  In  the  imaginative  pictures  the  prin- 
ciple begins  to  be  applied  more  largely,  till 
throughout  the  fairy  story  the  figures  float 
in  and  out  from  the  unknown,  as  fancies 
should.  This  method  in  its  simplicity  counts 
more  to  keep  the  place  an  Ali  Baba's  cave  than 
many  a  more  complicated  procedure.  In  luxu- 
rious scenes  it  brings  the  soft  edges  of  Correggio, 
and  in  solemn  ones  a  light  and  shadow  akin 
to  the  effects  of  Rembrandt. 

Now  we  have  a  darkness  on  which  we  can 
paint,  an  unspoiled  twilight.  We  need  not  call 
it  the  arabian's  cave.  There  is  a  tomb  we 
might  have  definitely  in  mind,  an  Egyptian 
burying-place  where  with  a  torch  we  might 
enter,  read  the  inscriptions,  and  see  the  illustra- 
tions from  the  Book  of  the  Dead  on  the  wall, 
or  finding  that  ancient  papyrus  in  the  mummy- 
case,  unroll  it  and  show  it  to  the  eager  assembly, 
and  have  the  feeling  of  return.  Man  is  an 
Egyptian  first,  before  he  is  any  other  type  of 
civilized  being.  The  Nile  flows  through  his 
heart.  So  let  this  cave  be  Egypt,  let  us  incline 
ourselves  to  revere  the  unconscious  memories 
that  echo  within  us  when  we  see  the  hieroglyph- 
ics of  Osiris,  and  Isis.  Egypt  was  our  long 
brooding  youth.     We  built  the  mysteriousness 


ON  COMING  FORTH  BY  DAY       ^55 

of  the  Universe  into  the  Pyramids,  carved  it 
into  every  line  of  the  Sphinx.  We  thought  al- 
ways of  the  immemorial. 

The  reel  now  before  us  is  the  mighty  judg- 
ment roll  dealing  with  the  question  of  our 
departure  in  such  a  way  that  any  man  who 
beholds  it  will  bear  the  impress  of  the  admoni- 
tion upon  his  heart  forever.  Those  Egyptian 
priests  did  no  little  thing,  when  amid  their 
superstitions  they  still  proclaimed  the  Judg- 
ment. Let  no  one  consider  himself  ready  for 
death,  till  like  the  men  by  the  Nile  he  can 
call  up  every  scene,  face  with  courage  every 
exigency  of  the  ordeal. 

There  is  one  copy  of  the  Book  of  the  Dead  of 
especial  interest,  made  for  the  Scribe  Ani,  with 
exquisite  marginal  drawings.  Copies  may  be 
found  in  our  large  libraries.  The  particular 
fac-simile  I  had  the  honor  to  see  was  in  the 
Lenox  Library,  New  York,  several  years  ago. 
Ani,  according  to  the  formula  of  the  priest- 
hood, goes  through  the  adventures  required  of 
a  shade  before  he  reaches  the  court  of  Osiris. 
All  the  Egyptian  pictures  on  tomb-wall  and 
temple  are  but  enlarged  picture-writing  made 
into  tableaus.  Through  such  tableaus  Ani 
mov^s.     The  Ani  manuscript  has  so  fascinated 


256    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

some  of  the  Egyptologists  that  it  is  copied  in 
figures  fifteen  feet  high  on  the  walls  of  two  of 
the  rooms  of  the  British  Museum.  And  you 
can  read  the  story  eloquently  told  in  Maspero. 

Ani  knocks  at  many  doors  in  the  underworld. 
Monstrous  gatekeepers  are  squatting  on  their 
haunches  with  huge  knives  to  slice  him  if  he 
cannot  remember  their  names  or  give  the  right 
password,  or  by  spells  the  priests  have  taught 
him,  convince  the  sentinels  that  he  is  Osiris 
himself.  To  further  the  illusion  the  name  of 
Osiris  is  inscribed  on  his  breast.  While  he  is 
passing  these  perils  his  little  wife  is  looking 
on  by  a  sort  of  clairvoyant  sympathy,  though 
she  is  still  alive.  She  is  depicted  mourning 
him  and  embracing  his  mummy  on  earth  at 
the  same  time  she  accompanies  him  through  the 
shadows. 

Ani  ploughs  and  sows  and  reaps  in  the  fields 
of  the  underworld.  He  is  carried  past  a  dread- 
ful place  on  the  back  of  the  cow  Hathor.  After 
as  many  adventures  as  Browning's  Childe 
Roland  he  steps  into  the  judgment-hall  of 
the  gods.  They  sit  in  majestic  rows.  He 
makes  the  proper  sacrifices,  and  advances 
to  the  scales  of  justice.  There  he  sees  his 
own  heart  weighed  against  the  ostrich-feather 


ON   COMING  FORTH  BY  DAY       257 

of  Truth,  by  the  jackal-god  Anubis,  who  has 
already  presided  at  his  embalming.  His  own 
soul,  in  the  form  of  a  human-headed  hawk, 
watches  the  ceremony.  His  ghost,  which  is 
another  entity,  looks  through  the  door  with 
his  little  wife.  Both  of  them  watch  with  tense 
anxiety.  The  fate  of  every  phase  of  his  per- 
sonality depends  upon  the  purity  of  his  heart. 

Lying  in  wait  behind  Anubis  is  a  monster, 
part  crocodile,  part  lion,  part  hippopotamus. 
This  terror  will  eat  the  heart  of  Ani  if  it  is  found 
corrupt.  At  last  he  is  declared  justified. 
Thoth,  the  ibis-headed  God  of  Writing,  records 
the  verdict  on  his  tablet.  The  justified  Ani 
moves  on  past  the  baffled  devourer,  with  the 
mystic  presence  of  his  little  wife  rejoicing  at 
his  side.  They  go  to  the  awful  court  of  Osiris. 
She  makes  sacrifice  with  him  there.  The  God 
of  the  Dead  is  indeed  a  strange  deity,  a  seated 
semi-animated  mummy,  with  all  the  appur- 
tenances of  royalty,  and  with  the  four  sons  of 
Horus  on  a  lotus  before  him,  and  his  two  wives, 
Isis  and  Nephthys,  standing  behind  his  throne 
with  their  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

The  justified  soul  now  boards  the  boat  in 
which  the  sun  rides  as  it  journeys  through  the 
night.  He  rises  a  glorious  boatman  in  the 
s 


258    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

morning,  working  an  oar  to  speed  the  craft 
through  the  high  ocean  of  the  noon  sky.  Hence- 
forth he  makes  the  eternal  round  with  the  sun. 
Therefore  in  Ancient  Egypt  the  roll  was  called, 
not  the  Book  of  the  Dead,  but  The  Chapters 
on  Coming  Forth  by  Day. 

This  book  on  motion  pictures  does  not  pro- 
fess to  be  an  expert  treatise  on  Egyptology 
as  well.  The  learned  folk  are  welcome  to 
amend  the  modernisms  that  have  crept  into 
it.  But  the  fact  remains  that  something  like 
this  story  in  one  form  or  another  held  Egypt 
spell-bound  for  many  hundred  years.  It  was 
the  force  behind  every  mummification.  It  was 
the  reason  for  the  whole  Egyptian  system  of 
life,  death,  and  entombment,  for  the  man  not 
embalmed  could  not  make  the  journey.  So  the 
explorer  finds  the  Egyptian  with  a  roll  of  this 
papyrus  as  a  guide-book  on  his  mummy  breast. 
The  soul  needed  to  return  for  refreshment 
periodically  to  the  stone  chamber,  and  the 
mummy  mutilated  or  destroyed  could  not  en- 
tertain the  guest.  Egypt  cried  out  through 
thousands  of  years  for  the  ultimate  resurrec- 
tion of  the  whole  man,  his  coming  forth  by  day. 

We  need  not  fear  that  a  story  that  so  domi- 
nated a  race  will  be  lost  on  modern  souls  when 


ON  COMING  FORTH  BY  DAY       259 

vividly  set  forth.  Is  it  too  much  to  expect  that 
some  American  prophet-wizard  of  the  future 
will  give  us  this  film  in  the  spirit  of  an  Egyp- 
tian priest? 

The  Greeks,  the  wisest  people  in  our  limited 
system  of  classics,  bowed  down  before  the 
Egyptian  hierarchy.  That  cult  must  have 
had  a  fine  personal  authority  and  glamour  to 
master  such  men.  The  unseen  mysteries  were 
always  on  the  Egyptian  heart  as  a  burden  and 
a  consolation,  and  though  there  may  have 
been  jugglers  in  the  outer  courts  of  these 
temples,  as  there  have  been  in  the  courts  of  all 
temples,  no  mere  actor  could  make  an  Egyptian 
priest  of  himself.  Their  very  alphabet  has  a 
regal  enchantment  in  its  lines,  and  the  same 
sesthetic-mystical  power  remains  in  their  py- 
lons and  images  under  the  blaze  of  the  all- 
revealing  noonday  sun. 

Here  is  a  nation,  America,  going  for  dreams 
into  caves  as  shadowy  as  the  tomb  of  Queen 
Thi.  There  they  find  too  often,  not  that  ancient 
priestess  and  ruler,  nor  any  of  her  kin,  nor  yet 
Ani  the  scribe,  nor  yet  any  of  the  kings,  but 
shabby  rags  of  fancy,  or  circuses  that  were 
better  in  the  street. 

Because  ten  million  people  daily  enter  into 


260    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  cave,  something  akin  to  Egyptian  wizardry, 
certain  national  rituals,  will  be  born.  By 
studying  the  matter  of  being  an  Egyptian 
priest  for  a  little  while,  the  author-producer 
may  learn  in  the  end  how  best  to  express  and 
satisfy  the  spirit-hungers  that  are  peculiarly 
American.  It  is  sometimes  out  of  the  oldest 
dream  that  the  youngest  vision  is  born. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   PROPHET-WIZARD 

The  whirlwind  of  cowboys  and  Indians  with 
which  the  photoplay  began,  came  about  because 
this  instrument,  in  asserting  its  genius,  was 
feeling  its  way  toward  the  most  primitive 
forms  of  life  it  could  find. 

Now  there  is  a  tendency  for  even  wilder 
things.  We  behold  the  half -draped  figures 
living  in  tropical  islands  or  our  hairy  fore- 
fathers acting  out  narratives  of  the  stone  age. 
The  moving  picture  conventionality  permits 
an  abbreviation  of  drapery.  If  the  primitive 
setting  is  convincing,  the  figure  in  the  grass- 
robe  or  buffalo  hide  at  once  has  its  rights  over 
the  healthful  imagination. 

There  is  in  this  nation  of  moving-picture-goers 
a  hunger  for  tales  of  fundamental  life  that  are 
not  yet  told.  The  cave-man  longs  with  an 
incurable  homesickness  for  his  ancient  day. 
One  of  the  fine  photoplays  of  primeval  life  is 

861 


262    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

the  story  called  Man's  Genesis,  described  in 
chapter  two. 

We  face  the  exigency  the  world  over  of  vast 
instruments  like  national  armies  being  played 
against  each  other  as  idly  and  aimlessly  as  the 
checker-men  on  the  cracker-barrels  of  corner 
groceries.  And  this  invention,  the  kinetoscope, 
which  affects  or  will  affect  as  many  people  as 
the  guns  of  Europe,  is  not  yet  understood  in 
its  powers,  particularly  those  of  bringing  back 
the  primitive  in  a  big  rich  way.  The  primitive 
is  always  a  new  and  higher  beginning  to  the 
man  who  understands  it.  Not  yet  has  the 
producer  learned  that  the  feeling  of  the  crowd 
is  patriarchal,  splendid.  He  imagines  the 
people  want  nothing  but  a  silly  lark. 

All  this  apparatus  and  opportunity,  and  no 
immortal  soul!  Yet  by  faith  and  a  study  of 
the  signs  we  proclaim  that  this  lantern  of 
wizard-drama  is  going  to  give  us  in  time  the 
visible  things  in  the  fulness  of  their  primeval 
force,  and  some  that  have  been  for  a  long  time 
invisible.  To  speak  in  a  metaphor,  we  are 
going  to  have  the  primitive  life  of  Genesis,  then 
all  that  evolution  after:  Exodus,  Leviticus, 
Numbers,  Deuteronomy,  Joshua,  Judges,  and 
on  to  a  new  revelation  of  St.  John.     In  this 


THE  PROPHET-WIZARD  263 

adolescence  of  Democracy  the  history  of  man 
is  to  be  retraced,  the  same  round  on  a  higher 
spiral  of  life. 

Our  democratic  dream  has  been  a  middle- 
class  aspiration  built  on  a  bog  of  toil-soddened 
minds.  The  piles  beneath  the  castle  of  our 
near-democratic  arts  were  rotting  for  lack  of 
folk-imagination.  The  Man  with  the  Hoe 
had  no  spark  in  his  brain.  But  now  a  light 
is  blazing.  We  can  build  the  American  soul 
broad-based  from  the  foundations.  We  can 
begin  with  dreams  the  veriest  stone-club  warrior 
can  understand,  and  as  far  as  an  appeal  to  the 
eye  can  do  it,  lead  him  in  fancy  through  every 
phase  of  life  to  the  apocalyptic  splendors. 

This  progress,  according  to  the  metaphor  of 
this  chapter,  will  be  led  by  prophet- wizards. 
These  were  the  people  that  dominated  the  cave- 
men of  old.  But  what,  more  specifically,  are 
prophet- wizards  ? 

Let  us  consider  two  kinds  of  present-day 
people :  scientific  inventors,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  makers  of  art  and  poetry  and  the  like, 
on  the  other.  The  especial  producers  of  art 
and  poetry  that  we  are  concerned  with  in  this 
chapter  we  will  call  prophet-wizards  :  men  like 
Albert  Durer,  Rembrandt,  Blake,  Elihu  Vedder, 


264    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

Watts,  Rossetti,  Tennyson,  Coleridge,  Poe, 
Maeterlinck,  Yeats,  Francis  Thompson. 

They  have  a  certain  unearthly  fascination  in 
some  one  or  many  of  their  works.  A  few 
other  men  might  be  added  to  the  list.  Most 
great  names  are  better  described  under  other 
categories,  though  as  much  beloved  in  their 
own  way.  But  these  are  especially  adapted 
to  being  set  in  opposition  to  a  list  of  mechanical 
inventors  that  might  be  called  realists  by  con- 
trast :  the  Wright  brothers,  and  H.  Pierpont 
Langley,  Thomas  A.  Edison,  Charles  Steinmitz, 
John  Hays  Hammond,  Hudson  Maxim,  Gra- 
ham Bell. 

The  prophet-wizards  are  of  various  schools. 
But  they  have  a  common  tendency  and  charac- 
ter in  bringing  forth  a  type  of  art  peculiarly  at 
war  with  the  realistic  civilization  science  has 
evolved.  It  is  one  object  of  this  chapter  to 
show  that,  when  it  comes  to  a  clash  between 
the  two  forces,  the  wizards  should  rule,  and  the 
realists  should  serve  them. 

The  two  functions  go  back  through  history, 
sometimes  at  war,  other  days  in  alliance.  The 
poet  and  the  scientist  were  brethren  in  the 
centuries  of  alchemy.  Tennyson,  bearing  in 
mind  such  a  period,  took  the  title  of  Merlin 


THE  PROPHET-WIZARD  265 

in  his  veiled  autobiography  Merlin  and  the 
Gleam. 

Wizards  and  astronomers  were  one  when 
the  angels  sang  in  Bethlehem,  **  Peace  on  Earth, 
Good  Will  to  Men."  There  came  magicians, 
saying,  "Where  is  he  that  is  born  king  of  the 
Jews,  for  we  have  seen  his  star  in  the  east  and 
have  come  to  worship  him?"  The  modern 
world  in  its  gentler  moments  seems  to  take  a 
peculiar  thrill  of  delight  from  these  travellers, 
perhaps  realizing  what  has  been  lost  from 
parting  with  such  gentle  seers  and  secular 
diviners.  Every  Christmas  half  the  magazines 
set  them  forth  in  richest  colors,  riding  across 
the  desert,  following  the  star  to  the  same  man- 
ger where  the  shepherds  are  depicted. 

Those  wizard  kings,  whatever  useless  charms 
and  talismans  they  wore,  stood  for  the  unknown 
quantity  in  spiritual  life.  A  magician  is  a  man 
who  lays  hold  on  the  unseen  for  the  mere  joy 
of  it,  who  steals,  if  necessary,  the  holy  bread 
and  the  sacred  fire.  He  is  often  of  the  remnant 
of  an  ostracized  and  disestablished  priesthood. 
He  is  a  free-lance  in  the  soul-world,  owing 
final  allegiance  to  no  established  sect.  The 
fires  of  prophecy  are  as  apt  to  descend  upon 
him  as  upon  members  of  the  established  faith. 


266    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

He  loves  the  mysterious  for  the  beauty  of  it, 
the  wildness  and  the  glory  of  it,  and  not  always 
to  compel  stiff-necked  people  to  do  right. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  scientific  and  poetic 
functions  of  society  should  make  common  cause 
again,  if  they  are  not,  as  in  Merlin's  time, 
combined  in  one  personality.  They  must  rec- 
ognize that  they  serve  the  same  society,  but 
with  the  understanding  that  the  prophetic  func- 
tion is  the  most  important,  the  wizard  vocation 
the  next,  and  the  inventors'  and  realists'  genius 
important  indeed,  but  the  third  considera- 
tion. The  war  between  the  scientists  and  the 
prophet-wizards  has  come  about  because  of 
the  half-defined  ambition  of  the  scientists  to 
rule  or  ruin.  They  give  us  the  steam-engine, 
the  skyscraper,  the  steam-heat,  the  flying  ma- 
chine, the  elevated  railroad,  the  apartment 
house,  the  newspaper,  the  breakfast  food,  the 
weapons  of  the  army,  the  weapons  of  the 
navy,  and  think  that  they  have  beautified  our 
existence. 

Moreover  some  one  rises  at  this  point  to 
make  a  plea  for  the  scientific  imagination. 
He  says  the  inventor-scientists  have  brought 
us  the  mystery  of  electricity,  which  is  no  hocus- 
pocus,  but  a  special  manifestation  of  the  Imma- 


THE  PROPHET-WIZARD  267 

nent  God  within  us  and  about  us.  He  says 
the  student  in  the  laboratory  brought  us  the 
X-ray,  the  wireless  telegraph,  the  mystery  of 
radium,  the  mystery  of  all  the  formerly  unhar- 
nessed power  of  God  which  man  is  beginning 
to  gather  into  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

The  one  who  pleads  for  the  scientific  imag- 
ination points  out  that  Edison  has  been  called 
the  American  Wizard.  All  honor  to  Edison  and 
his  kind.  And  I  admit  specifically  that  Edison 
took  the  first  great  mechanical  step  to  give  us 
the  practical  kinetoscope  and  make  it  possible 
that  the  photographs,  even  of  inanimate  objects 
thrown  upon  the  mirror-screen,  may  become 
celestial  actors.  But  the  final  phase  of  the 
transfiguration  is  not  the  work  of  this  inventor 
or  any  other.  As  long  as  the  photoplays  are  in 
the  hands  of  men  like  Edison  they  are  mere 
voodooism.  We  have  nothing  but  Moving 
Day,  as  heretofore  described.  It  is  only  in 
the  hands  of  the  prophetic  photoplaywright 
and  allied  artists  that  the  kinetoscope  reels 
become  as  mysterious  and  dazzling  to  the  think- 
ing spirit  as  the  wheels  of  Ezekiel  in  the  first 
chapter  of  his  prophecy.  One  can  climb  into 
the  operator's  box  and  watch  the  sword-like 
stream  of  light  till  he  is  as  dazzled  in  flesh 


268    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTIIRE 

and  spirit  as  the  moth  that  burns  its  wings  in 
the  lamp.  But  this  is  while  a  glittering  vision 
and  not  a  mere  invention  is  being  thrown  upon 
the  screen. 

The  scientific  man  can  explain  away  the 
vision  as  a  matter  of  the  technique  of  double 
exposure,  double  printing,  trick-turning,  or 
stopping  down.  And  having  reduced  it  to 
terms  and  shown  the  process,  he  expects  us 
to  become  secular  and  casual  again.  But  of 
course  the  sun  itself  is  a  mere  trick  of  heat  and 
light,  a  dynamo,  an  incandescent  globe,  to  the 
man  in  the  laboratory.  To  us  it  must  be  a  fire 
upon  the  altar. 

Transubstantiation  must  begin.  Our  young 
magicians  must  derive  strange  new  pulse-beats 
from  the  veins  of  the  earth,  from  the  sap 
of  the  trees,  from  the  lightning  of  the  sky, 
as  well  as  the  alchemical  acids,  metals,  and 
flames.  Then  they  will  kindle  the  beginning 
mysteries  for  our  cause.  They  will  build  up 
a  priesthood  that  is  free,  yet  authorized  to  free- 
dom. It  will  be  established  and  disestablished 
according  to  the  intrinsic  authority  of  the  light 
revealed. 

Now  for  a  closer  view  of  this  vocation. 

The  picture   of   Religious  Splendor  has  its 


THE  PROPHET-WIZARD  269 

obvious  form  in  the  delineation  of  Biblical 
scenes,  which,  in  the  hands  of  the  best  com- 
mercial producers,  can  be  made  as  worth  while 
as  the  work  of  men  like  Tissot.  Such  films  are 
by  no  means  to  be  thought  of  lightly.  This  sort 
of  work  will  remain  in  the  minds  of  many  of 
the  severely  orthodox  as  the  only  kind  of  a 
religious  picture  worthy  of  classification.  But 
there  are  many  further  fields. 

Just  as  the  wireless  receiving  station  or  the 
telephone  switchboard  become  heroes  in  the 
photoplay,  so  Aaron's  rod  that  confounded  the 
Egyptians,  the  brazen  serpent  that  Moses  up- 
lifted in  the  wilderness,  the  ram's  horn  that 
caused  the  fall  of  Jericho,  the  mantle  of  Elijah 
descending  upon  the  shoulders  of  Elisha  from 
the  chariot  of  fire,  can  take  on  a  physical  elec- 
trical power  and  a  hundred  times  spiritual 
meaning  that  they  could  not  have  in  the  dead 
stage  properties  of  the  old  miracle  play  or  the 
realism  of  the  Tissot  school.  The  waterfall  and 
the  tossing  sea  are  dramatis  personse  in  the 
ordinary  film  romance.  So  the  Red  Sea  over- 
whelming Pharaoh,  the  fires  of  Nebuchadnezzar's 
furnace  sparing  and  sheltering  the  three  holy 
children,  can  become  celestial  actors.  And 
winged  couriers  can  appear,  in  the  pictures, 


270    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

with  missions  of  import,  just  as  an  angel  de- 
scended to  Joshua,  saying,  "As  captain  of  the 
host  of  the  Lord  am  I  now  come." 

The  pure  mechanic  does  not  accept  the 
doctrine.  "Your  alleged  supernatural  appear- 
ance," he  says,  "is  based  on  such  a  simple  fact 
as  this :  two  pictures  can  be  taken  on  one 
film." 

But  the  analogy  holds.  Many  primitive 
peoples  are  endowed  with  memories  that  are 
double  photographs.  The  world  faiths,  based 
upon  centuries  of  these  appearances,  are 
none  the  less  to  be  revered  because  machine- 
ridden  men  have  temporarily  lost  the  power 
of  seeing  their  thoughts  as  pictures  in  the  air, 
and  for  the  time  abandoned  the  task  of  adding 
to  tradition. 

Man  will  not  only  see  visions  again,  but 
machines  themselves,  in  the  hands  of  prophets, 
will  see  visions.  In  the  hands  of  commercial 
men  they  are  seeing  alleged  visions,  and  the  term 
"  vision  "  is  a  part  of  moving-picture  studio  slang, 
unutterably  cheapening  religion  and  tradition. 
When  Confucius  came,  he  said  one  of  his  tasks 
was  the  rectification  of  names.  The  leaders 
of  this  age  should  see  that  this  word  ''vision'^ 
comes  to  mean  something  more  than  a  piece 


THE  PROPHET-WIZARD  271 

of  studio  slang.  If  it  is  the  conviction  of 
serious  minds  that  the  mass  of  men  shall  never 
again  see  pictures  out  of  Heaven  except  through 
such  mediums  as  the  kinetoscope  lens,  let  all 
the  higher  forces  of  our  land  courageously  lay 
hold  upon  this  thing  that  saves  us  from  per- 
petual spiritual  blindness. 

When  the  thought  of  primitive  man,  embodied 
in  misty  forms  on  the  landscape,  reached  epic 
proportions  in  the  Greek,  he  saw  the  Olympians 
more  plainly  than  he  beheld  the  Acropolis. 
Myron,  Polykleitos,  Phidias,  Scopas,  Lysippus, 
Praxiteles,  discerned  the  gods  and  demigods 
so  clearly  they  afterward  cut  them  from  the 
hard  marble  without  wavering.  Our  guardian 
angels  of  to-day  must  be  as  clearly  seen  and 
nobly  hewn. 

A  double  mental  vision  is  as  fundamental 
in  human  nature  as  the  double  necessity  for 
air  and  light.  It  is  as  obvious  as  that  a  thing 
can  be  both  written  and  spoken.  We  have 
maintained  that  the  kinetoscope  in  the  hands 
of  artists  is  a  higher  form  of  picture  writing. 
In  the  hands  of  prophet-wizards  it  will  be  a 
higher  form   of   vision-seeing. 

I  have  said  that  the  commercial  men  are 
seeing  alleged  visions.     Take,  for  instance,  the 


272    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

large  Italian  film  that  attempts  to  popularize 
Dante.  Though  it  has  a  scattering  of  noble 
passages,  and  in  some  brief  episodes  it  is  an 
enhancement  of  Gustave  Dore,  taking  it  as  a 
whole,  it  is  a  false  thing.  It  is  full  of  appari- 
tions worked  out  with  mechanical  skill,  yet 
Dante's  soul  is  not  back  of  the  fires  and  swords 
of  light.  It  gives  to  the  uninitiated  an  out- 
line of  the  stage  paraphernalia  of  the  Inferno. 
It  has  an  encyclopaedic  value.  If  Dante 
himself  had  been  the  high  director  in  the  pleni- 
tude of  his  resources,  it  might  still  have  had 
that  hollo wness.  A  list  of  words  making  a 
poem  and  a  set  of  apparently  equivalent  pictures 
forming  a  photoplay  may  have  an  entirely 
different  outcome.  It  may  be  like  trying  to 
see  a  perfume  or  listen  to  a  taste.  Religion 
that  comes  in  wholly  through  the  eye  has  a 
new  world  in  the  films,  whose  relation  to  the 
old  is  only  discovered  by  experiment  and  intui- 
tion, patience  and  devotion. 

But  let  us  imagine  the  grandson  of  an  Italian 
immigrant  to  America,  a  young  seer,  trained 
in  the  photoplay  technique  by  the  high  Ameri- 
can masters,  knowing  all  the  moving  picture 
resources  as  Dante  knew  Italian  song  and 
mediaeval   learning.      Assume   that   he   has   a 


THE  PROPHET-WIZARD  273 

genius  akin  to  that  of  the  Florentine.  Let  him 
be  a  Modernist  Catholic  if  you  will.  Let  him 
begin  his  message  in  the  timber  lands  of  Minne- 
sota or  the  forests  of  Alaska.  "In  midway  of 
this  our  mortal  life  I  found  me  in  a  gloomy 
wood  astray."  Then  let  him  paint  new  pic- 
tures of  just  punishment  beyond  the  grave,  and 
merciful  rehabilitation  and  great  reward.  Let 
his  Hell,  Purgatory,  and  Paradise  be  built  of 
those  things  which  are  deepest  and  highest  in 
the  modern  mind,  yet  capable  of  emerging  in 
picture-writing  form. 

Men  are  needed,  therefore  they  will  come. 
And  lest  they  come  weeping,  accursed,  and 
alone,  let  us  ask,  how  shall  we  recognize  them  ? 
There  is  no  standard  by  which  to  discern  the 
true  from  the  false  prophet,  except  the  mood 
that  is  engendered  by  contemplating  the  mes- 
sengers of  the  past.  Every  man  has  his  own 
roll  call  of  noble  magicians  selected  from  the 
larger  group.  But  here  are  the  names  with 
which  this  chapter  began,  with  some  words  on 
their  work. 

Albert  Diirer  is  classed  as  a  Renaissance 
painter.  Yet  his  art  has  its  dwelling-place  in 
the  early  Romanesque  savageness  and  strange- 
ness.    And    the    reader    remembers    Durer's 


274    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

brooding  muse  called  Melancholia  that  so 
obsessed  Kipling  in  The  Light  that  Failed. 
But  the  wonder-quality  went  into  nearly  all 
the  Durer  wood-cuts  and  etchings.  Rem- 
brandt is  a  prophet-wizard,  not  only  in  his 
shadowy  portraits,  but  in  his  etchings  of  holy 
scenes  even  his  simplest  cobweb  lines  become 
incantations.  Other  artists  in  the  high  tides 
of  history  have  had  kindred  qualities,  but 
coming  close  to  our  day,  Elihu  Vedder,  the 
American,  the  illustrator  of  the  Rubaiyat,  found 
it  a  poem  questioning  all  things,  and  his  very 
illustrations  answer  in  a  certain  fashion  with 
winds  of  infinity,  and  bring  the  songs  of  Omar 
near  to  the  Book  of  Job.  Vedder 's  portraits 
of  Lazarus  and  Samson  are  conceptions  that 
touch  the  hem  of  the  unknown.  George  Fred- 
erick Watts  was  a  painter  of  portraits  of  the 
soul  itself,  as  in  his  delineations  of  Burne-Jones 
and  Morris  and  Tennyson. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that  two  prophet- wizards 
have  combined  pictures  and  song.  Blake  and 
Rossetti,  whatever  the  failure  of  their  technique, 
never  lacked  in  enchantment.  Students  of 
the  motion  picture  side  of  poetry  would 
naturally  turn  to  such  men  for  spiritual  prec- 
edents.    Blake,  that  strange  Londoner,  in  his 


THE  PROPHET-WIZARD  275 

book  of  Job,  is  the  paramount  example  of  the 
enchanter  doing  his  work  with  the  engraving 
tool  in  his  hand. 

Rossetti's  Dante's  Dream  is  a  painting  on 
the  edge  of  every  poet's  paradise.  As  for 
the  poetry  of  these  two  men,  there  are  Blake's 
Songs  of  Innocence,  and  Rossetti's  Blessed 
Damozel  and  his  Burden  of  Nineveh. 

As  for  the  other  poets,  we  have  Coleridge, 
the  author  of  Christabel,  that  piece  of  winter 
witchcraft,  Kubla  Khan,  that  oriental  dazzle- 
ment,  and  the  Ancient  Mariner,  that  most 
English  of  all  this  list  of  enchantments.  Of 
Tennyson's  work,  besides  Merlin  and  the 
Gleam,  there  are  the  poems  when  the  mantle 
was  surely  on  his  shoulders :  The  Lady  of 
Shalott,  The  Lotus  Eaters,  Sir  Galahad,  and 
St.  Agnes'  Eve. 

Edgar  Poe,  always  a  magician,  blends  this 
power  with  the  prophetical  note  in  the  poem. 
The  Haunted  Palace,  and  in  the  stories  of  Wil- 
liam Wilson,  The  Black  Cat  and  The  Tell-tale 
Heart.  This  prophet- wizard  side  of  a  man 
otherwise  a  wizard  only,  has  been  well  illus- 
trated in  The  Avenging  Conscience  photoplay. 

From  Maeterlinck  we  have  The  Bluebird 
and  many  another  dream.     I  devoutly  hope 


276    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

I  will  never  see  in  the  films  an  attempt  to  para- 
phrase this  master.  But  some  disciple  of  his 
should  conquer  the  photoplay  medium,  giving 
us  great  original  works. 

Yeats  has  bestowed  upon  us  The  Land  of 
Heart's  Desire,  The  Secret  Rose,  and  many 
another  piece  of  imaginative  glory.  Let  us 
hope  that  we  may  be  spared  any  attempts  to 
hastily  paraphrase  his  wonders  for  the  motion 
pictures.  But  the  man  that  reads  Yeats  will 
be  better  prepared  to  do  his  own  work  in  the 
films,  or  to  greet  the  young  new  masters  when 
they  come. 

Finally,  Francis  Thompson,  in  The  Hound 
of  Heaven,  has  written  a  song  that  the  young 
wizard  may  lean  upon  forevermore  for  private 
guidance.  It  is  composed  of  equal  parts  of 
wonder  and  conscience.  With  this  poem  in 
his  heart,  the  roar  of  the  elevated  railroad  will 
be  no  more  in  his  ears,  and  he  will  dream  of 
palaces  of  righteousness,  and  lead  other  men 
to  dream  of  them  till  the  houses  of  mammon 
fade  away. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  ACCEPTABLE  YEAR  OF  THE  LORD 

Without  airing  my  private  theology  I 
earnestly  request  the  most  sceptical  reader  of 
this  book  to  assume  that  miracles  in  a  Biblical 
sense  have  occurred.  Let  him  take  it  for 
granted  in  the  fashion  of  the  strictly  aesthetic 
commentator  who  writes  in  sympathy  with  a 
Fra  Angelico  painting,  or  as  that  great  mod- 
ernist, Paul  Sabatier,  does  as  he  approaches 
the  problems  of  faith  in  the  life  of  St.  Francis. 
Let  him  also  assume,  for  the  length  of  time 
that  he  is  reading  this  chapter  if  no  longer, 
that  miracles,  in  a  Biblical  sense,  as  vivid  and 
as  real  to  the  body  of  the  church,  will  again 
occur  two  thousand  years  in  the  future :  events 
as  wonderful  as  those  others,  twenty  centuries 
back.  Let  us  anticipate  that  many  of  these 
will  be  upon  American  soil.  Particularly  as 
sons  and  daughters  of  a  new  country  it  is  a 
spiritual  necessity  for  us  to  look  forward  to 
traditions,  because  we  have  so  few  from  the 

277 


278    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

past  identified  with  the  six  feet  of  black  earth 
beneath  us. 

The  functions  of  the  prophet  whereby  he 
definitely  painted  future  sublimities  have  been 
too  soon  abolished  in  the  minds  of  the  wise. 
Mere  forecasting  is  left  to  the  weather  bureau 
so  far  as  a  great  section  of  the  purely  literary 
and  cultured  are  concerned.  The  term  prophet 
has  survived  in  literature  to  be  applied  to  men 
like  Carlyle :  fiery  spiritual  leaders  who  speak 
with  little  pretence  of  revealing  to-morrow. 

But  in  the  street,  definite  forecasting  of 
future  events  is  still  the  vulgar  use  of  the  term. 
Dozens  of  sober  historians  predicted  the  present 
war  with  a  clean-cut  story  that  was  carried 
out  with  much  faithfulness  of  detail,  considering 
the  thousand  interests  involved.  They  have 
been  called  prophets  in  a  congratulatory  secular 
tone  by  the  man  in  the  street.  These  felicita- 
tions come  because  well-authorized  merchants 
in  futures  have  been  put  out  of  countenance 
from  the  days  of  Jonah  and  Balaam  till  now. 
It  is  indeed  a  risky  vocation.  Yet  there  is 
an  undeniable  line  of  successful  forecasting 
by  the  hardy,  to  be  found  in  the  Scripture  and 
in  history.  In  direct  proportion  as  these  men 
of  fiery  speech  were  free  from  sheer  silliness. 


ACCEPTABLE  YEAR  OF  THE  LORD  279 

their  outlook  has  been  considered  and  debated 
by  the  gravest  people  round  them.  The  heart 
of  man  craves  the  seer.  Take,  for  instance,  the 
promise  of  the  restoration  of  Jerusalem  in  glory 
that  fills  the  latter  part  of  the  Old  Testament. 
It  moves  the  Jewish  Zionist,  the  true  race-Jew, 
to  this  hour.  He  is  even  now  endeavoring 
to  fulfil  the  prophecy. 

Consider  the  words  of  John  the  Baptist, 
"One  mightier  than  I  cometh,  the  latchet  of 
whose  shoes  I  am  not  worthy  to  unloose : 
he  shall  baptize  you  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and 
with  fire."  A  magnificent  foreshadowing,  being 
both  a  spiritual  insight  and  the  statement  of 
a  great  definite  event. 

The  heeded  seers  of  the  civilization  of  this 
our  day  have  been  secular  in  their  outlook. 
Perhaps  the  most  striking  was  Karl  Marx,  in 
the  middle  of  the  capitalistic  system  tracing  its 
development  from  feudalism  and  pointing  out 
as  inevitable,  long  before  they  came,  such 
modern  institutions  as  the  Steel  Trust  and  the 
Standard  Oil  Company.  It  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  the  Marxian  prophecy  of  the  interna- 
tional alliance  of  workingmen  that  is  obscured 
by  the  present  conflict  in  Europe,  and  other  of 
his  forecastings,  will  be  ultimately  verified. 


280    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

There  have  been  secular  teachers  like  Darwin, 
who,  by  a  scientific  reconstruction  of  the  past, 
have  implied  an  evolutionary  future  based  on 
the  biological  outlook.  Deductions  from  the 
teachings  of  Darwin  are  said  to  control  those 
who  mould  the  international  doings  of  Ger- 
many and  Japan. 

There  have  been  inventor-seers  like  Jules 
Verne.  In  Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  under 
the  Sea  he  dimly  discerned  the  submarine. 
There  is  a  type  of  social  prophet  alHed  to 
Verne.  Edward  Bellamy,  in  Looking  Back- 
ward, reduced  the  world  to  a  matter  of  pressing 
the  button,  turning  on  the  phonograph.  It 
was  a  combination  of  glorified  department- 
store  and  Coney  Island,  on  a  cooperative  basis. 
A  seventeen-year-old  boy  from  the  country, 
making  his  first  visit  to  the  Woolworth  build- 
ing in  New  York,  and  riding  in  the  subway  when 
it  is  not  too  crowded,  might  be  persuaded  by  an 
eloquent  city  relative  that  this  is  Bellamy's 
New  Jerusalem. 

A  soul  with  a  greater  insight  is  H.  G.  Wells. 
But  he  too,  in  spite  of  his  humanitarian  heart, 
has,  in  a  great  mass  of  his  work,  the  lab- 
oratory imagination.  Serious  Americans  pro- 
nounce themselves  beneficiaries  of  Wells*  works. 


ACCEPTABLE  YEAR  OF  THE  LORD  281 

and  I  confess  myself  edified  and  thoroughly 
grateful.  Nevertheless,  one  smells  chemicals 
in  the  next  room  when  he  reads  most  of  Wells' 
prophecies.  The  X-ray  has  moved  that  Eng- 
lishman's mind  more  dangerously  than  moon- 
light touches  the  brain  of  the  chanting  witch. 
One  striking  and  typical  story  is  The  Food 
of  the  Gods.  It  is  not  only  a  fine  speculation, 
but  a  great  parable.  The  reader  may  prefer 
other  tales.  Many  times  Wells  has  gone  into 
his  laboratory  to  invent  our  future,  in  the  same 
state  of  mind  in  which  an  automobile  manu- 
facturer works  out  an  improvement  in  his  car. 
His  disposition  has  greatly  mellowed  of  late,  in 
this  respect,  but  underneath  he  is  the  same 
Wells. 

Citizens  of  America,  wise  or  foolish,  when 
they  look  into  the  coming  days,  have  the  sub- 
marine mood  of  Verne,  the  press-the-button 
complacency  of  Bellamy,  the  wireless  tele- 
graph enthusiasm  of  Wells.  If  they  express 
hopes  that  can  be  put  into  pictures  with  definite 
edges,  they  order  machinery  piled  to  the  skies. 
They  see  the  redeemed  United  States  running 
deftly  in  its  jewelled  sockets,  ticking  like  a 
watch. 

This,  their  own  chosen  outlook,  wearies  the 


282    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

imaginations  of  our  people,  they  do  not  know 
why.  It  gives  no  full-orbed  apocalyptic  joy. 
Only  to  the  young  mechanical  engineer  does 
such  a  hope  express  real  Utopia.  He  can 
always  keep  ahead  of  the  devices  that  herald 
its  approach.  No  matter  what  day  we  attain 
and  how  busy  we  are  adjusting  ourselves,  he 
can  be  moving  on,  inventing  more  to-morrows ; 
ruling  the  age,  not  being  ruled  by  it. 

Because  this  Utopia  is  in  the  air,  a  goodly 
portion  of  the  precocious  boys  turn  to  mechani- 
cal engineering.  Youths  with  this  bent  are 
the  most  healthful  and  inspiring  young  citizens 
we  have.  They  and  their  like  will  fulfil  a 
multitude  of  the  hopes  of  men  like  Verne, 
Bellamy,  and  Wells. 

But  if  every  mechanical  inventor  on  earth 
voiced  his  dearest  wish  and  lived  to  see  it 
worked  out,  the  real  drama  of  prophecy  and 
fulfilment,  as  written  in  the  imagination  of  the 
human  race,  would  remain  uncompleted. 

As  Mrs.  Browning  says  in  Lady  Geraldine's 
Courtship :  — 

If  we  trod  the  deeps  of  ocean,  if  we  struck  the  stars  in 

rising. 
If  we  wrapped  the  globe  intensely  with  one  hot  electric 

breath. 


ACCEPTABLE  YEAR  OF  THE  LORD  283 

'Twere  but  power  within  our  tether,  no  new  spirit-power 

comprising, 
And  in  life  we  were  not  greater  men,  nor  bolder  men  in 

death. 

St.  John  beheld  the  New  Jerusalem  coming 
down  out  of  Heaven  prepared  as  a  bride  adorned 
for  her  husband,  not  equipped  as  a  touring 
car  varnished  for  its  owner. 

It  is  my  hope  that  the  moving  picture 
prophet-wizards  will  set  before  the  world  a 
new  group  of  pictures  of  the  future.  The 
chapter  on  The  Architect  as  a  Crusader  en- 
deavors to  show  how,  by  proclaiming  that 
America  will  become  a  permanent  World's 
Fair,  she  can  be  made  so  within  the  lives  of 
men  now  living,  if  courageous  architects  have 
the  campaign  in  hand.  There  are  other  hopes 
that  look  a  long  way  further.  They  peer  as 
far  into  the  coming  day  as  the  Chinese  his- 
torian looks  into  the  past.  And  then  they  are 
but  halfway  to  the  millennium. 

Any  standard  illustrator  could  give  us  Verne 
or  Bellamy  or  Wells  if  he  did  his  best.  But 
we  want  pictures  beyond  the  skill  of  any  de- 
lineator in  the  old  mediums,  yet  within  the 
power  of  the  vnzard  photoplay  producer.  Oh 
you  who  are  coming  to-morrow,  show  us  every- 


284    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

day  America  as  it  will  be  when  we  are  only 
halfway  to  the  millennium  yet  thousands  of 
years  in  the  future !  Tell  what  type  of  honors 
men  will  covet,  what  property  they  will  still 
be  apt  to  steal,  what  murders  they  will  com- 
mit, what  the  law  court  and  the  jail  will  be  or 
what  will  be  the  substitutes,  how  the  newspaper 
will  appear,  the  office,  the  busy  street. 

Picture  to  America  the  lovers  in  her  half- 
millennium,  when  usage  shall  have  become 
iron-handed  once  again,  when  noble  sweet- 
hearts must  break  beautiful  customs  for  the 
sake  of  their  dreams.  Show  us  the  gauntlet 
of  strange  courtliness  they  must  pass  through 
before  they  reach  one  another,  obstacles  brought 
about  by  the  immemorial  distinctions  of  scholar- 
ship gowns  or  service  badges. 

Make  a  picture  of  a  world  where  machinery 
is  so  highly  developed  it  utterly  disappeared 
long  ago.  Show  us  the  antique  United  States, 
with  ivy  vines  upon  the  popular  socialist 
churches,  and  weather-beaten  images  of  so- 
cialist saints  in  the  niches  of  the  doors.  Show 
us  the  battered  fountains,  the  brooding  uni- 
versities, the  dusty  libraries.  Show  us  houses 
of  administration  with  statues  of  heroes  in 
front  of  them  and  gentle  banners  flowing  from 


ACCEPTABLE  YEAR  OF  THE  LORD  285 

their  pinnacles.  Then  paint  pictures  of  the 
oldest  trees  of  the  time,  and  tree-revering 
ceremonies,  with  unique  costumes  and  a  special 
priesthood. 

Show  us  the  marriage  procession,  the  chris- 
tening, the  consecration  of  the  boy  and  girl 
to  the  state.  Show  us  the  political  processions 
and  election  riots.  Show  us  the  people  with 
their  graceful  games,  their  religious  pantomimes. 
Show  us  impartially  the  memorial  scenes  to 
celebrate  the  great  men  and  women,  and  the 
funerals  of  the  poor.  And  then  moving  on  to- 
ward the  millennium  itself,  show  America  after 
her  victories  have  been  won,  and  she  has  grown 
old,  as  old  as  the  Sphinx.  Then  give  us  the 
Dragon  and  Armageddon  and  the  Lake  of  Fire. 

Author-producer-photographer,  who  would 
prophesy,  read  the  last  book  in  the  Bible, 
not  to  copy  it  in  form  and  color,  but  that  its 
power  and  grace  and  terror  may  enter  into  you. 
Delineate  in  your  own  way,  as  you  are  led  on 
your  own  Patmos,  the  picture  of  our  land 
redeemed.  After  fasting  and  prayer,  let  the 
Spirit  conduct  you  till  you  see  in  definite  line 
and  form  the  throngs  of  the  brotherhood  of 
man,  the  colonnades  where  the  arts  are  ex- 
pounded, the  gardens  where  the  children  dance. 


286    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

That  which  man  desires,  that  will  man 
become.  He  largely  fulfils  his  own  prediction 
and  vision.  Let  him  therefore  have  a  care  how 
he  prophesies  and  prays.  We  shall  have  a  tin 
heaven  and  a  tin  earth,  if  the  scientists  are 
allowed  exclusive  command  of  our  highest 
hours. 

Let  us  turn  to  Luke  iv.  17. 

"And  there  was  delivered  unto  him  the  book 
of  the  prophet  Esaias.  And  when  he  had  opened 
the  book  he  found  the  place  where  it  was 
written :  — 

"  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  upon  me  because 
he  hath  anointed  me  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  the 
poor;  he  hath  sent  me  to  heal  the  broken- 
hearted, to  preach  deliverance  to  the  captives, 
and  recovering  of  sight  to  the  blind,  to  set  at 
liberty  them  that  are  bruised,  to  preach  the 
acceptable  year  of  the  Lord. 

"And  he  closed  the  book,  and  he  gave  it 
again  to  the  minister,  and  sat  down.  And  the 
eyes  of  all  them  that  were  in  the  synagogue 
were  fastened  on  him.  And  he  began  to  say 
unto  them:  *This  day  is  this  Scripture  ful- 
filled in  your  ears.' 

"And  all  bare  him  witness,  and  wondered 
at  the  gracious   words   which  proceeded  out 


ACCEPTABLE  YEAR  OF  THE  LORD  287 

of  his  mouth.  And  they  said:  'Is  not  this 
Joseph's  son?'" 

I  am  moved  to  think  Christ  fulj&lled  that 
prophecy  because  he  had  read  it  from  child- 
hood. It  is  my  entirely  personal  speculation, 
not  brought  forth  dogmatically,  that  Scripture 
is  not  so  much  inspired  as  it  is  curiously  and 
miraculously  inspiring. 

If  the  New  Isaiahs  of  this  time  will  write 
their  forecastings  in  photoplay  hieroglyphics, 
the  children  in  times  to  come,  having  seen  those 
films  from  infancy,  or  their  later  paraphrases 
in  more  perfect  form,  can  rise  and  say,  "This 
day  is  this  Scripture  fulfilled  in  your  ears."  But 
without  prophecy  there  is  no  fulfilment,  without 
Isaiah  there  is  no  Christ. 

America  is  often  shallow  in  her  dreams  be- 
cause she  has  no  past  in  the  European  and 
Asiatic  sense.  Our  soil  has  no  Roman  coin 
or  buried  altar  or  Buddhist  tope.  For  this 
reason  multitudes  of  American  artists  have 
moved  to  Europe,  and  only  the  most  universal 
of  wars  has  driven  them  home.  Year  after 
year  Europe  drained  us  of  our  beauty-lovers, 
our  highest  painters  and  sculptors  and  the 
like.  They  have  come  pouring  home,  confused 
expatriates,   trying  to  adjust  themselves.     It 


288    THE  ART  OF  THE  MOVING  PICTURE 

is  time  for  the  American  craftsman  and  artist 
to  grasp  the  fact  that  we  must  be  men  enough 
to  construct  a  to-morrow  that  grows  rich  in 
forecastings  in  the  same  way  that  the  past  of 
Europe  grows  rich  in  sweet  or  terrible  legends 
as  men  go  back  into  it. 

Scenario  writers,  producers,  photoplay  actors, 
endowers  of  exquisite  films,  sects  using  special 
motion  pictures  for  a  predetermined  end,  all 
you  who  are  taking  the  work  as  a  sacred  trust, 
I  bid  you  God-speed.  Let  us  resolve  that 
whatever  America's  to-morrow  may  be,  she 
shall  have  a  day  that  is  beautiful  and  not 
crass,  spiritual,  not  material.  Let  us  resolve 
that  she  shall  dream  dreams  deeper  than  the 
sea  and  higher  than  the  clouds  of  heaven, 
that  she  shall  come  forth  crowned  and  trans- 
figured with  her  statesmen  and  wizards  and 
saints  and  sages  about  her,  with  magic  behind 
her  and  miracle  before  her. 

Pray  that  you  be  delivered  from  the  tempta- 
tion to  cynicism  and  the  timidities  of  orthodoxy. 
Pray  that  the  workers  in  this  your  glorious 
new  art  be  delivered  from  the  mere  lust  of  the 
flesh  and  pride  of  life.  Let  your  spirits  out- 
flame  your  burning  bodies. 


ACCEPTABLE  YEAR  OF  THE  LORD  289 

;  Consider  what  it  will  do  to  your  souls,  if 
you  are  true  to  your  trust.  Every  year, 
despite  earthly  sorrow  and  the  punishment  of 
your  mortal  sins,  despite  all  weakness  and  all 
of  Time's  revenges  upon  you,  despite  Nature's 
reproofs  and  the  whips  of  the  angels,  new  visions 
will    come,    new   prophecies    will   come.     You 

;  will  be  seasoned  spirits  in  the  eyes  of  the  wise. 
The  record  of  your  ripeness  will  be  found  in 
your  craftsmanship.  You  will  be  God's  thor- 
oughbreds. 

4:  4:  4:  4:  4:  4: 

It  has  come  then,  this  new  weapon  of  men, 
and  the  face  of  the  whole  earth  changes.  In 
after  centuries  its  beginning  will  be  indeed 
remembered. 

It  has  come,  this  new  weapon  of  men,  and 
by  faith  and  a  study  of  the  signs  we  proclaim 
that  it  will  go  on  and  on  in  immemorial  wonder. 

VACHEL  LINDSAY. 

Springfield,  Illinois, 
Nov.  1,  1915. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


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